THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


A  KENTUCKY  CHRONICLE 


A  KENTUCKY 
CHRONICLE 


BY 

JOHN   THOMPSON    GRAY 


NEW    YORK    AND    WASHINGTON 

THE   NEALE  PUBLISHING   COMPANY 

1906 


Copyright,  1906,  by 
SOPHIE   DE   BUTTS    GRAY 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTIX  PAGE 

PREFACE  1 

I.  A  HASTY  BIBD'S-EYE  VIEW 11 

II.  REGINALD  THORNTON  21 

III.  DBAMATIS  PERSONS 33 

IV.  MB.  JACK  TAYLOB 40 

«o  V.  MAJOR  THBOCKMORTON 48 

VI.  DIFFICULTIES    58 

\-1 

j^          VII.  THE  REMOVAL  TO  LASTLANDS 69 

2g         VIII.  THE  PIGEONS  82 

?=•  IX.  THE  BEAR  HUNT 92 

X.  MIGBATORY  BIRDS   107 

XL  THE  THEATER 118 

^          XII.  A  YOUNG  IMPKESARIO 128 

XIII.  THE  CAPTURE  OF  STOKES 134 

XIV.  THE  SCHOOLMASTER  142 

XV.  OULD  AND  BARBARA 153 

XVI.  A  MILITARY  FUNEBAL 166 

XVII.  MAJOB  TINSLEY 177 

XVIII.  JOY  AT  LASTLANDS 186 

XIX.  AN   EXPEBIMENT   IN    SLAVEHOLDING 194 

XX.  TITLES  OF  HONOB  IN  KENTUCKY 203 

XXI.  LOITEBING  ON  THE  RlDGE  LlCK 206 

XXII.  THE  DUKE 216 

XXIII.  PAUL'S  CONFESSION  227 

XXIV.  THOBNTON  AND  WILLIAMS 241 

XXV.  MAJOB  TINSLEY'S  ILLUSION  DISPELLED 250 

XXVI.  OLD  LITIGANTS 257 

XXVII.  JOHN  D.  ON  THE  FALLS 266 

XXVIII.  THE  GAMBLING-BOOM  277 

XXIX.  THE  CODE  OF  HONOR 296 

XXX.  AN  ARRIVAL  FROM  FRANCE 310 

5 


6  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXXI.    BABBABA'S  WBATH 319 

XXXII.     THE  K.S.M.C 331 

XXXIII.  JOHN  D.  RESOLVES  TO  GO  TO  COLLEGE 335 

XXXIV.  A  MEBBY  JOURNEY 349 

XXXV.    THE  CIRCUS 363 

XXXVI.    THE  PBESS 369 

XXXVII.    POLITICAL  APPOINTMENTS   377 

XXXVIII.    THE  PENITENTIARY  383 

XXXIX.    AN  ANONYMOUS  LETTEB 387 

XL.    MB.  JOHN  DIGBY  VISITS  LASTLANDS 392 

XLI.     THE  MEETING  OF  OLD  FRIENDS 396 

XLII.    MAJOB  LE  COMPTE 412 

XLIII.    AN  OLD  ROMAN 421 

XLIV.    COLONEL  SWELL  RETRACTS 435 

XLV.     THE  RACES 441 

XL VI.     QUABTEB  RACES 451 

XLVII.    MR.  OULD'S  ACCIDENT 467 

XLVIII.    A  STUDY  IN  PSYCHOLOGY 475 

XLIX.     DICK  THORNTON'S  LOVE  AFFAIR 479 

L.    JOHN  D.  GOES  TO  BOSTON 489 

LI.    A  CHARLESTON  CHAPERON 495 

LII.    ANCESTRAL  HALLS    507 

LIII.    MISUNDERSTANDING    512 

LIV.     PAUL  AND  PHCEBE 516 

LV.    BABBABA'S  RETURN 519 

LVI.    THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE 524 

LVII.     TABLE  TALK 528 

LVIII.    THE  RECTOR 537 

LIX.     PH<EBE'S  WEDDING  540 

LX.     THE  DUKE  ON  GUARD 553 

LXI.     THE  DEATH  OF  ELIJAH 560 

LXII.    LOVE-MAKING  AT  LASTLANDS 567 

LXIII.    THE  SEERS 571 

LXIV.    BELL,  BOOK,  AND  CANDLE 579 

LXV.     THE  B.R.R.B 583 

LXVI.    CONCLUSION  588 


PREFACE. 

To  EXHIBIT  by  sketches  from  social  annals,  as  by  a  cross- 
section,  a  phase  of  the  early  civilization  of  Kentucky,  com 
mon  in  its  leading  features  to  most  of  the  slave  States,  but 
in  some  respects  peculiar  to  the  locality  to  which  it  relates, 
is  the  purpose  of  this  book.  The  incidents  recounted  are 
all  true,  derived  from  authentic  sources  or  of  which  the 
writer  may  say  "Quorum  perexigua  pars  fui."  The  charac 
ters  are  real  people  that  lived,  moved,  and  had  their  being. 
For  obvious  reasons  names  have  been  sometimes  changed, 
but  in  all  else  it  is  a  veritable  chronicle. 

It  would  be  presumptuous  to  claim  for  this  work  the  title 
of  history.  Dealing  with  a  people  of  that  happy  class  whose 
annals  are  dull,  it  possesses  none  of  the  dignity  and  concern 
so  often  "purchased  to  history  at  the  expense  of  mankind." 
Yet  when  faithfully  done  such  writings  are  not  without 
value.  Mr.  Burke,  speaking  of  books  that  depict  the  man 
ners  of  a  people,  says,  "We  possess  at  this  time  very  great 
advantages  toward  the  knowledge  of  human  nature.  We 
need  no  longer  go  to  history  to  trace  it  in  all  its  ages  and 
periods."  Nay,  of  historians  it  has  been  long  complained 
that  they  have  dwelt  too  long  in  senate  houses,  and  on  bat 
tle-fields,  and  even  in  kings'  ante-chambers,  forgetting  that 

7 


8  Preface 

far  away  from  such  scenes,  in  a  thousand  remote  valleys,  a 
world  of  existence  was  blossoming  and  fading,  whether  the 
famous  victory  were  won  or  lost. 
One  of  the  early  English  poets  says, 

; 

"Stories  to  read  are  delitable. 
Suppose  that  they  be  nought  but  fable, 
Then  suld  stories  that  suthfast  were,  , 

And  they  were  said  in  good  manere, 
Have  double  pleasance  in  hearing." 

Neibuhr  says,  "He  who  calls  departed  ages  back  again 
into  being  enjoys  a  bliss  like  that  of  creating."  This  the 
writer  has  verified.  If  the  reader  shall  get  from  this  chron 
icle  a  tithe  of  the  pleasure  it  has  given  the  author  in  re 
calling,  both  may  be  well  contented. 

A  PIONEER. 


A  KENTUCKY  CHRONICLE 


CHAPTEE  I 

A  HASTY  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW 

IN  ITS  primitive  state  no  more  delightful  region  ever  in 
vited  adventurers  within  its  borders  than  that  which  now 
constitutes  the  Commonwealth  of  Kentucky.  Under  a 
genial  climate  it  possessed  a  vast  area  of  fertile  land  shad 
owed  by  the  undisturbed  vegetation  of  centuries,  a  surface 
diversified  by  every  form  of  natural  beauty,  where  "blue 
rivers  ran  undammed  between  hills  unhewn,  into  far  forest 
solitudes  primeval,  odorous,  and  unexplored."  Though 
coveted  by  all  the  savage  tribes  that  dwelt  upon  its  borders, 
and  the  cause  of  cruel  wars  among  them,  it  was  never  pos 
sessed  by  any :  a  virgin  land  engirdled  as  with  a  silver  zone 
by  a  chain  of  bright  rivers,  chief  among  them  the  Ohio, 
characteristically  named  "The  beautiful  river."  Its  fame 
was  soon  spread  abroad  and  drew  within  its  borders  hardy 
adventurers  from  many  quarters : 

"A  motley  band:  the  bearded  man, 
The  eager  and  ambitious  boy, 
The  fugitive  from  fallen  Troy, 
The  Old  World  knight  with  stainless  name,  » 

The  man  with  heritage  of  shame." 

When  the  war  for  independence  was  ended  a  new  and 
distinct  class  of  emigrants  turned  their  steps  to  Kentucky. 
Soldiers  of  the  Revolution,  who,  to  maintain  themselves 
and  their  commands  through  the  war,  had  mortgaged  their 
lands  and  slaves,  finding  their  fortunes  seriously  impaired 
by  the  financial  stress  that  followed  the  war,  with  little  left 
but  their  swords  and  their  tattered  uniforms,  gathered  to 
gether  the  remnant  of  slaves  and  chattels,  and  with  these, 

11 


12  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

and  their  wives  and  children,  and  their  household  gods, 
made  their  way  to  this  new  region. 

The  easier  route  by  the  Ohio,  in  flatboats,  attracted  most 
of  these.  No  route  was  safe  from  the  lurking  savages,  and 
the  annals  of  the  State  are  full  of  details  of  frightful  dis 
asters  on  the  way.  Such  points  as  were  provided  with  a 
fort,  or  had  gathered  sufficient  strength  to  resist  the  in 
roads  of  the  Indians,  were  naturally  favorite  places  of  des 
tination.  The  settlement  at  the  falls  of  the  Ohio,  known 
as  "The  Falls,"  having  at  an  early  day  built  a  fort,  and 
become  a  strong  post,  was  a  favorite  point  for  landing. 
Hither  came  large  numbers  of  these  new  settlers,  if  not 
to  abide,  at  least  to  make  a  temporary  lodgement  until  they 
should  have  fixed  upon  a  place  of  permanent  abode.  In 
the  year  1784  our  annalists  tell  us  that  three  hundred  and 
eighty-four  "family-boats"  landed  at  The  Falls.  The 
greater  part  of  these  immigrants  settled  permanently  there 
or  in  the  neighborhood.  They  had  come  chiefly  from  Vir 
ginia  and  Maryland,  but  much  the  greater  part  from  Vir 
ginia.  To  these  last,  proverbially  noted  for  love  of  their 
native  land,  it  was  some  consolation  to  know  that  Ken 
tucky  was  a  portion  of  Virginia,  and  that  they  were  still 
leal  subjects  of  the  "Old  Dominion." 

Thus  at  an  early  day  all  the  elements  of  refined  life 
were  brought  together  at  The  Falls,  and  in  its  vicinity.  Its 
society  was  not  the  result  of  the  gradual  growth  of  frontier 
life  developed  by  slow  degrees  from  rude  pioneers  and  hunt 
ers,  but  an  integral  portion  of  whatever  was  best  in  the 
civilization  of  the  older  States,  especially  of  Virginia  and 
Maryland,  bodily  transplanted  thither,  and  under  new  skies, 
and  in  a  fresh  soil,  striking  deep  its  roots,  and  bearing  rich 
and  abundant  fruit. 

Besides  the  large  immigration  from  Virginia  and  Mary 
land,  there  was  a  notable  accession  to  the  settlement  of 
many  French  families,  fugitives  from  revolutionary  France, 
and  from  St.  Domingo;  people  of  culture  and  refinement, 
and  many  of  them  possessed  of  wealth.  They  were  notable 
not  only  in  these  respects  and  for  their  considerable  num 
ber,  but  also  for  their  influence  upon  the  manners  of  the 
people.  "In  founding  new  colonies,"  says  Chateaubriand, 


A  Hasty  Bird's-eye  View  13 

"our  navigators  tell  us,  that  the  Spaniards  build  first  a 
church,  the  English  a  tavern,  the  French  a  fort,  and  I  say 
also  a  ballroom."  And  then  in  illustration  of  the  universal 
and  invincible  passion  of  his  nation  for  dancing,  he  gives 
an  account  of  a  little  Frenchman,  one  Violet,  who  had  come 
to  America  as  a  scullion  in  the  army  of  Count  Rochambeau, 
and  who,  having  conceived  the  idea  of  introducing  French 
dancing  among  the  aborigines,  when  the  French  went  away 
remained  behind  in  New  York,  and  afterward  made  his 
way  to  the  then  frontier  of  that  State.  There  Chateau 
briand  found  him  installed  as  dancing-master  to  the  Cayu- 
gas,  a  branch  of  the  great  Iroquois  nation,  receiving  his 
pay  in  beavers'  skins  and  bears'  hams,  and  saw  him  in  the 
middle  of  the  forest,  arrayed  in  the  regulation  costume  of 
a  French  dancing-master,  apple-green  coat  and  ruffles  of 
lace,  and  cocked  hat,  take  his  little  fiddle  from  his  pocket, 
and  crying  out  in  the  Iroquois  language  to  a  large  band  of 
scholars,  men  and  women  half  naked,  with  feathers  in  their 
heads,  "Take  your  places,"  strike  up  "Madelon  Friquet." 
and  send  them  "jumping  like  a  band  of  devils."  The 
Frenchmen  at  The  Falls  were  true  to  their  ancient  tradi 
tions.  There  was  no  need  of  a  fort  when  they  came,  and 
the  old  fastness  had  fallen  into  disuse  and  decay,  but  they 
set  up  at  once  a  ballroom,  and  organized  a  dancing-school, 
which  was  soon  overflowing  with  scholars,  and  was  the 
means  of  disseminating  among  the  people  much  of  that 
gaiety  and  graceful  politeness  that  belong  to  the  French 
nation,  softening  and  enlivening  the  stately  manners  of  the 
old  Virginia  school. 

The  master  of  the  dance,  Monsieur  Guibert,  had  not  been 
bred  a  dancing-master.  In  France  he  had  been  a  lawyer, 
but  finding  this  profession  not  likely  to  avail  him  to  main 
tain  a  wife  and  child  at  The  Falls,  with  that  practical 
philosophy  which  distinguishes  his  nation,  he  became  there 
a  dancing-master.  People  used  to  relate  as  a  joke  against 
the  lawyers,  that  one  of  these  asking  him  how,  having  been 
in  France  a  lawyer,  he  could  stoop  to  teach  dancing  in  Ken 
tucky,  was  answered,  "It  is  verra  true  in  France  I  was  an 
avocat,  but  w'en  I  come  to  Kentuckee  I  find  ze  law  no  re 
spectable,  and  I  take  to  ze  dance." 


14  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

It  is  proper  to  say  here  that  at  an  early  day  a  large  dis 
trict,  embracing  many  square  miles  about  the  falls  of  the 
Ohio,  was  known  as  "The  Falls  District."  This  was  grad 
ually  narrowed  until  it  embraced  only  the  town  there  and 
its  vicinity,  and  at  last  the  town  alone.  On  the  map  this 
soon  bore  another  name,  but  in  this  chronicle  it  will  be 
known  only  as  The  Falls,  to  which  name  its  old  inhabitants 
always  adhered. 

The  little  settlement  prospered  and  grew  rapidly,  and 
became  in  a  few  years  a  busy  river  town.  Even  before 
the  advent  of  the  steamboat,  the  extensive  and  cheap  trans 
portation  on  the  rivers,  by  means  of  keeled  barges  and  flat- 
boats,  had  made  its  commercial  interests  very  considerable. 
It  was  by  natural  position  a  distributing  point  for  commod 
ities,  in  all  directions,  and  was  the  official  distributing 
point  for  the  public  mail.  It  was  not  long  before  there 
were  set  up  there  large  flouring  mills  and  a  distillery. 

The  coming  of  the  first  steamboat  was  a  notable  event 
in  the  history  of  The  Falls.  It  is  coldly  related,  after  the 
manner  of  historians,  in  our  annals,  but  this  chronicler  is 
happy  to  be  able  to  give  from  contemporaneous  testimony 
a  brief  particular  relation  of  its  effect  at  the  little  town. 
It  was  in  the  fall  of  1811,  a  year  of  portents,  a  comet  in  the 
sky  (a  baleful  omen),  earthquakes  at  hand,  war  impending, 
and  hostilities  already  begun  by  Great  Britain,  while  Mr. 
Clay,  then  in  the  flower  of  his  life,  was  urging  with  stormy 
eloquence  the  declaration  of  war.  The  public  mind  was 
wrought  to  such  a  pitch  that  no  ordinary  occurrence  could 
interest  or  disturb  it,  when  an  event  occurred  which  for 
a  brief  time  aroused  and  perplexed  its  people  to  their  wits' 
end.  In  the  middle  of  the  night,  when  everybody,  even 
its  one  watchman  John  Ferguson,  was  asleep,  there  was 
heard  from  the  river  a  loud  unearthly  screaming,  loud  be 
yond  the  capacity  of  any  living  creature  to  utter;  now  bass, 
now  treble,  now  grunting,  now  whistling,  now  roaring  in 
a  voice  of  supernatural  power!  People  flew  out  of  doors 
half  clad  into  the  street,  gathering  in  groups  and  wonder 
ing  what  horror  was  at  hand.  An  old  revolutionary  sol 
dier,  calling  up  his  factotum,  an  Irishman  long  in  his  serv- 


A  Hasty  Bird's-eye  View  15 

ice  in  peace  and  war,  said,  "Run  down,  Jimmie,  and  see 
what  is  making  that  awful  noise  at  the  river." 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  replied;  "I  will  go,  Captain,  but  I  am 
thinking  it's  that  comet  that  has  fell  in  the  river  and  is 
a-sizzling  there." 

As  the  reader  has  doubtless  anticipated,  it  was  the  letting 
off  of  steam  by  a  steamboat  then  landed  at  the  shore,  the 
New  Orleans,  the  first  that  ever  stirred  with  its  paddles  the 
waters  of  the  Ohio,  or  stained  its  skies  with  smoke.  There 
it  lay  for  months,  the  river  continuing  too  low  to  permit 
a  passage  over  the  falls,  a  wonder  and  a  show  to  hundreds 
that  came  from  all  quarters  to  see  it. 

With  the  steamboats,  which  now  multiplied  rapidly,  and 
brought  about  easy  communication  with  New  Orleans,  and 
thence  with  the  West  Indies,  came  a  great  extension  of  the 
commercial  business  of  The  Falls.  Large  wholesale  houses 
in  all  the  branches  of  trade  were  soon  established.  Among 
these  were  wholesale  auction  houses,  with  vast  warerooms 
filled  with  every  variety  of  commodities,  attracting  to  their 
periodical  sales  buyers  from  all  parts  of  the  growing  West 
and  South.  Except  the  manufacture  of  flour  and  whisky, 
the  business  of  the  town  was  almost  exclusively  commercial, 
and  was  carried  on  upon  a  scale  that  seemed  strangely  out 
of  proportion  to  the  narrow  area  of  the  place. 

As  The  Falls  advanced  in  prosperity,  as  with  all  people 
of  English  descent,  luxurious  living  kept  pace  with  their 
growing  fortunes.  Spacious  dwellings  of  brick,  modeled 
for  the  most  part  after  those  in  Arch  street,  Philadelphia, 
or  St.  Paul's  lane  in  Baltimore,  with  which  cities  The  Falls 
had  always  maintained  close  business  relations,  were  now 
put  up  by  the  more  prosperous  citizens;  houses  with  wide 
halls  and  broad  easy  stairways  and  landings,  with  marble 
doorsteps,  and  handsome  doorways,  decorated  by  painted 
mouldings  in  lead  having  all  the  effect  of  elaborate  carving. 
In  the  interior  were  ample  chambers  and  spacious  parlors, 
with  floors  and  wainscoting  of  narrow  ashen  or  walnut 
strips  waxed  and  polished. 

The  society  of  the  country  about  The  Falls  kept  even 
pace  with  that  of  the  town,  planters  rich  in  land  and 
slaves  even  out-vying  the  people  of  the  town,  reproducing 


16  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

in  their  new  homes  the  ancient  mansions  of  the  Old  Do 
minion  and  of  Maryland,  and  dispensing  the  same  tradi 
tional,  liberal,  and  graceful  hospitality.  Abundant  testi 
mony  could  be  adduced  to  the  truthfulness  of  this  account 
of  the  society  about  The  Falls,  but  this  chronicler  will  here 
refer  to  only  one  witness  of  paramount  authority.  Charles 
Bernard,  second  son  of  Charles,  Duke  of  Saxweimer,  a 
major-general  in  the  army  of  the  Netherlands,  who  fought 
at  Wagram  and  received  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor 
from  the  hand  of  Napoleon,  visited  The  Falls  in  1825,  and 
in  his  book  of  travels  testifies  to  the  refinement  and  polite 
ness  of  its  society. 

A  second  eventful  year  in  the  early  history  of  The  Falls 
was  1822,  when  in  the  summer  succeeding  a  wet  mild  win 
ter,  a  fatal  "pernicious  fever"  prevailed  there,  not  unlike  a 
mild  form  of  yellow  fever,  which  carried  off  about  one-third 
of  the  inhabitants.  This  was  a  sore  trial  to  the  little  com 
munity,  but  it  was  met  with  unflinching  courage  and  forti 
tude.  In  the  midst  of  the  common  calamity  all  worldly  dis 
tinctions  were  forgotten,  all  secular  and  religious  animosi 
ties  ignored,  and  the  hearts  and  the  purses  of  all  freely 
opened  to  the  necessities  of  the  sick.  Laymen  and  physi 
cians,  men  and  women,  who  might  have  fled  from  the  pesti 
lence,  bravely  stood  at  their  posts  and  many  died  there. 
For  years  this  experience  of  a  common  suffering,  and  the 
spirit  revealed  by  it,  bound  together  in  the  strongest  ties 
the  survivors  of  this  fatal  epidemic,  hardly  any  one  of  them 
being  without  some  remembrance  of  service  rendered  that 
could  never  be  forgotten. 

There  was  no  abject  poverty  at  The  Falls,  and  beggary 
was  unknown.  Skilled  labor  was  well  paid,  and  the  neces 
saries  of  life  abundant  and  cheap,  and  this  begot  a  spirit 
of  sturdy  independence  in  all  the  walks  of  life;  a  spirit 
like  that  which  prompted  the  reply  of  the  early  California!! 
when  offered  a  dollar  to  carry  a  trunk  to  the  tavern,  "Why, 
I  will  give  two  dollars  just  to  see  you  carry  your  own  trunk 
there."  Menial  service  was  confined  to  slaves.  Every  other 
form  of  labor  was  honorable.  To  excel  in  his  calling,  and 
to  be  a  gentleman  within  that  calling,  was  the  aspiration 
of  every  proper  man.  Even  the  fine  gentlemen,  spite  of 


A  Hasty  Bird's-eye  View  17 

their  aristocratic  leaven,  were  true  to  this  principle  of 
democracy.  When  one  of  their  number  insulted  a  tailor, 
and  was  challenged  by  him,  and  it  was  suggested  that  the 
gentleman  was  not  bound  to  give  the  tailor  satisfaction, 
this  suggestion  was  indignantly  scouted,  and  the  rule  dis 
tinctly  expounded  by  one  whose  authority  none  would  then 
dispute,  that  "A  gentleman  is  bound  to  answer  for  an  af 
front  given  any  reputable  man,  whatever  may  be  his  call 
ing,  provided  his  message  be  borne  by  another  reputable 
man,  and  they  come  upon  the  ground  in  clean  shirts."  And 
this  has  remained  always  the  rule  in  Kentucky. 

Still,  a  strong  leaven  of  aristocracy  surviving  from  Colo 
nial  days  subsisted  about  The  Falls,  and  was  especially  ap 
parent  in  the  country.  In  legal  instruments  the  parties 
were  still  described  as  yeomen,  gentlemen,  etc.,  as  the  case 
might  be.  Wealth  indeed  gave  a  certain  importance,  espe 
cially  wealth  in  land  and  slaves,  but  wealth  alone  even 
in  this  form  could  not  insure  social  position.  Vulgarity 
or  an  opprobrious  calling,  as  negro  dealing,  was  refused 
recognition  always. 

For  a  long  time,  as  in  England,  the  social  and  political 
aristocracy  all  over  the  State  had  its  home  in  the  country. 
Thence  came  most  of  the  members  of  Congress,  and  of  the 
State  legislature,  and  thence  for  the  most  part  came  also 
the  judges  of  the  higher  courts  of  law.  The  leading  law 
yers  who  aspired  to  the  public  service  and  from  whose 
ranks  these  were  taken,  were  accustomed  to  make  a  com 
promise  between  agriculture  and  trade,  and  fix  their  habi 
tations  on  the  edge  of  the  county  towns,  where  they  en 
joyed  at  once  the  dignity  of  agricultural  life  and  the  con 
venience  of  proximity  to  the  courts. 

There  was  nothing  invidious  in  these  distinctions  in  so 
ciety.  Unsupported  by  any  legal  sanction,  and  subsisting 
only  by  public  sentiment  and  custom,  they  were  yet  on  all 
hands  tacitly  acknowledged;  prevailing  more  by  the  in 
trinsic  merit  of  those  to  whom  a  seeming  privilege  was 
accorded  than  by  anything  else;  a  tribute  to  the  small 
virtues  of  politeness  and  courtesy.  In  fact,  people  took 
pride  .in  their  fine  gentlemen.  And  be  it  remembered 
that  the  fine  gentlemen  of  that  day,  besides  their  stateli- 


18  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

ness,  were  most  distinguished  by  invincible  politeness  to  all 
men,  and  seemed,  at  least,  to  defer  always  their  own  con 
venience  or  interest  to  that  of  others.  A  fine  old  manner, 
potent  in  its  day  and  commanding  respect  everywhere, 
diffusing  itself  and  carrying  refinement  and  good  manners 
into  every  walk  of  life.  But  now ! 

The  wise  man  has  said,  "Say  not  thou,  'what  is  the  cause 
that  the  former  days  are  better  than  these  ?'  for  thou  dost 
not  inquire  wisely  concerning  this."  And  some  will  now 
say,  that  the  politeness  of  that  day  was  a  sham,  a  graceful 
mask  worn  for  a  purpose.  Not  so.  It  was  not  a  day  of 
shams,  but  quite  the  opposite.  Disguises  and  shams  belong 
to  our  day.  There  were  fewer  affectations  then,  and  fewer 
disguises,  and  no  euphemisms  to  hide  or  to  dignify  the 
occupations  of  life.  A  tavern  had  not  become  a  hotel,  nor 
a  grog-shop  a  sample-parlor,  nor  a  barber-shop  a  saloon, 
nor  a  slop-shop  a  palace  of  trade.  There  were  no  sugar- 
coated  pills,  the  doctor  making  up  his  bolus  between  his 
finger  and  thumb  from  the  raw  material  in  his  saddlebags. 
No  man  in  any  walk  of  life  would  then  wear  a  shirt  in  four 
or  five  pieces,  body,  bosom,  collar,  and  cuffs.  This  chron 
icler  well  remembers  when  the  separate  collar  first  came 
into  vogue,  and  was  called  opprobriously  a  "dickey."  It  is 
not  meant  to  be  implied  that  there  was  in  all  this  anything 
essentially  commendable,  but  only  to  show  the  open,  fair 
and  square  spirit  of  the  time.  People  did  not  carry  con 
cealed  weapons  either.  Any  honest  man  would  then  as  lief 
be  found  with  stolen  goods,  as  with  a  pistol  or  a  dirk  hid 
about  him.  In  going  long  journeys  it  was  not  unusual 
to  carry  pistols,  but  they  were  borne  openly,  in  holsters  on 
the  saddle.  Quarrels  were  settled  among  gentlemen  by 
the  code,  and,  among  those  that  did  not  acknowledge  its 
authority,  by  fisticuffs.  x\nd  in  this  case  any  foul  play 
was  always  resented  by  the  bystanders,  and  the  cry,  "He's 
got  a  knife,"  would  instantly  turn  every  hand  against  the 
offender.  The  love  of  fair  play  inherited  with  their  Eng 
lish  blood  was  everywhere  abroad  there. 

Of  course  the  many  professors  of  religion  did  not  recog 
nize  fighting  in  any  form  as  proper.  Yet  there  were  many 
of  these,  especially  "Churchmen,"  who  reconciled  their 


A  Hasty  Bird's-eye  View  19 

consciences  to  the  code,  and  even  among  the  ministers 
were  some  who,  in  a  strong  case,  would  have  thrown  off 
their  canonicals  and  taken  the  field.  Outside  of  all  theta, 
as  in  all  communities,  there  were  a  few  that  did  not  rec 
ognize  any  social  law,  but  stood  out  against  all,  and  were 
a  law  unto  themselves;  men  who  respected  nothing  human 
or  divine  but  their  own  self-interest;  whose  chief  study 
in  life  was  always  how  to  hold  this  secure,  and  to  keep 
the  law  on  their  side.  With  these  it  was  not  safe  to  meddle, 
and  people  avoided  them  as  honest  dogs  avoid  a  snapping 
cur. 

In  the  circle  of  trade  at  The  Falls  wealth  was  not  with 
out  its  intrinsic  strength;  and  as  the  trade  of  the  town 
increased,  it  asserted  itself  more  and  more.  But  it  never 
attained  there  that  wide  sway  it  now  bears  everywhere. 
And  verily,  when  its  possessor  can  say  unto  a  man  "go," 
and  he  goeth;  nay,  when  he  can  say  unto  a  man  "vote," 
and  he  voteth,  who  can  any  longer  despise  riches?  For, 
are  not  the  character  and  conduct  of  our  Government  de 
termined  by  votes  ?  And  are  not  now  the  votes  of  the  pop 
ulace  as  cheap  as  sparrows  in  Jerusalem?  Are  not  seats 
even  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States  bought  and  sold? 
Is  not  the  want  of  riches  everywhere  a  barrier  to  political 
preferment  ?  Have  we  not  had  before  the  country  but  yes 
terday  a  plea  in  bar  against  the  best  man  for  the  highest 
place  in  the  new  President's  Cabinet,  that  he  is  not  rich 
enough  for  the  place,  and  that  it  must  be  given  to  some 
man  less  capable  but  richer  ?  Shades  of  Washington !  Jef 
ferson  !  Madison !  But  who  does  not  hear  the  rising  laugh 
at  this  invocation  ?  More  potent  agencies  must  be  invoked, 
and  will  be,  nay,  have  been.  Their  shadows  are  already 
here,  and  the  grim  demons  of  Communism  and  Sansculot- 
ism  are  behind,  steadily  advancing. 

The  municipal  government  of  The  Falls  under  seven 
trustees  was  "sloV*  and  inexpensive.  Those  ingenious 
cracksmen  that  now  infest  all  rich  municipalities,  and 
crowd  the  lobbies  of  legislative  halls,  were  then  unknown. 
Everybody  knew  of  their  prototypes,  the  robbing  barons  of 
the  dark  ages,  but  no  man  dreamed  that  these  would  re 
appear  in  the  light  of  modern  civilization.  But,  as  the 


20  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

poor  are  with  us  always,  so  also  are  the  robbers,  in  different 
guise,  "The  viler  as  underhand  not  openly  bearing,  the 
sword."  The  public  robber  of  the  dark  ages,  whose  simple 
formula  was,  "Give  me  money  and  I  will  get  soldiers ;  give 
me  soldiers  and  I  will  get  money,"  clad  in  steel,  with  armed 
followers,  openly  plundered  whom  he  pleased.  With  the 
same  formula,  changed  by  only  a  single  word,  "Give  me 
money  and  I  will  get  voters;  give  me  voters  and  I  will  get 
money/'  the  modern  robber,  clad  in  broadcloth  and  fine 
linen,  thick-necked  and  red  with  whisky,  plunders  every 
body;  robbing  safely  under  the  forms  of  law. 

"He  makes  a  trust  of  charity  a  job, 
And  gets  an  act  of  Parliament  to  rob." 

It  cannot  be  said  that  there  was  ever  at  The  Falls  any 
golden  age  of  municipal  government;  for  we  learn  by  tra 
dition  that  the  large  space  extending  through  the  twelve 
cross-streets  of  the  town,  donated  by  its  citizens  for  a  .pub 
lic  park,  was  sold  by  the  trustees,  to  pay  their  whisky  bill 
at  the  tavern.  And  though  this  tradition  shall  prove  un 
founded,  the  mere  fact  of  its  existence  is  still  significant. 
"Ancient  traditions,"  says  a  distinguished  philosopher  of 
our  day,  "when  tested  by  the  severe  processes  of  modern 
investigation,  commonly  enough  fade  away  into  mere 
dreams,  but  it  is  singular  how  often  the  dream  turns  out 
to  have  been  a  half-waking  one,  presaging  the  reality." 


CHAPTEE  II 

REGINALD   THORNTON 

"This  man  began  to  build  and  was  not  able  to  finish." 

AMONG  the  Virginian  emigrants  to  The  Falls  was  Regi 
nald  Thornton,  a  stately,  kindly  gentleman  of  the  old 
school.  He  had  served  as  a  captain  of  a  troop  of  horse  in 
the  war  for  independence,  and,  like  many  others,  had  en 
cumbered  by  mortgages  his  large  estate  in  land  and  slaves. 
Before  this  he  had  acquired  in  the  neighborhood  of  The 
Falls  a  large  body  of  rich  land,  a  survey  of  five  thousand 
acres.  He  was  one  of  those  sanguine  men  who  live  in  the 
future,  who,  while  they  often  miscarry  by  a  too  hopeful 
view  of  that  future,  yet  possessed  of  an  abiding  faith  in 
their  own  forecast,  are  apt,  in  a  new  country,  to  be  amply 
compensated  in  the  end.  It  is  they  that  lay  the  foundations 
of  great  works  that  require  years  to  complete,  project  the 
great  highways  of  commerce,  set  out  the  stately  avenues 
and  orchards,  and 

"Plant  the  slow  olive  for  a  race  unborn." 

Of  a  temperament  quite  opposite  to  this  was  his  wife,  al 
ways  despondent  and  distrustful  of  the  future,  and  ever 
expecting  the  worst.  It  used  to  be  related  of  her,  that 
whenever  any  of  their  children  were  missing,  she  always 
ran  first  to  look  down  into  the  well;  while  of  him  it  was 
said,  that  when  kept  in  doors  by  stormy  weather,  a  thing 
very  irksome  to  his  active,  hopeful  temper,  he  would  ex 
claim  with  every  increase  of  the  sound  of  rain  upon  the 
roof,  "Ah !  there's  a  clearing-up  shower."  As  somewhat 
further  indicating  his  character,  for  which  this  chronicler 
has  but  scant  material,  it  may  be  related  that  once,  while 


22  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

on  a  visit  in  town,  when  his  young  son  Kobert  burst 
into  his  chamber,  and  with  boyish  enthusiasm  called  out, 
"Father,  please  come  down  quickly  and  see  Mr.  Jack 
Sprigg,  a  man  that  would  rather  fight  than  eat,"  he  replied, 
"I  thank  you,  sir,  but  I  shall  not  be  in  a  hurry  to  make 
such  an  acquaintance."  It  may  be  further  stated  that  he 
had  received  a  liberal  classical  education,  had  been  abroad 
in  his  youth,  that  he  loved  country  life,  and  had  a  strong 
aversion  to  trade. 

After  the  war  for  independence,  finding  his  estate  in  Vir 
ginia  seriously  impaired,  he  set  about  transferring  what 
remained  to  Kentucky.  Leaving  at  the  Virginia  home 
stead  his  wife  and  three  children  with  the  household  slaves 
and  taking  the  plantation  slaves  and  horses  and  wagons 
and  cattle,  he  went  out  to  found  a  new  home  in  the  wilder 
ness.  Years  were  passed  in  this  occupation,  and  in  journey 
ing  back  and  forth  on  horseback  over  the  mountain  roads 
between  Kentucky  and  Virginia.  Meantime,  the  three 
children,  a  girl  and  two  boys,  were  left  at  home  with  the 
mother.  The  girl  and  the  youngest  boy  were  taught  by  a 
governess  in  the  house  of  a  near  neighbor,  while  the  oldest 
boy,  Eichard,  or  little  Dick,  as  he  was  called, -was  placed 
some  miles  away  at  a  boarding-school.  There,  as  he  used 
to  declare,  he  learned  nothing,  and  was  almost  starved; 
nay,  would  have  been  starved  but  that  every  Saturday  a 
servant  was  sent  with  a  horse  to  bring  him  home.  Forti 
fied  by  the  bountiful  table  there  and  a  supply  to  eke  out 
the  scanty  board  of  the  school,  he  went  back  on  Monday 
provisioned  for  another  week  of  siege.  Of  these  children 
the  eldest,  Susan,  was  fifteen,  Eichard  two  years  younger, 
and  the  third,  Eobert,  in  his  eighth  year,  when  the  father 
in  1804  took  them  all  to  the  new  home,  "Lastlands."  He 
carried  also  a  schoolmaster,  an  Irishman  named  Eogan, 
who  in  a  log  schoolhouse  on  the  "Lastlands"  plantation 
taught  these  children  and  others  of  the  neighbors  the  usual 
English  rudiments.  A  few  years  after,  the  mother  died 
and  the  cares  of  the  household  devolved  upon  the  daugh 
ter,  who,  growing  to  womanhood,  a  lovely,  sedate  gentle 
woman,  was  married  to  Mr.  John  Digby,  a  prosperous 
young  commission  and  forwarding  merchant  at  The  Falls. 


Reginald  Thornton  23 

Then  Kogan  the  schoolmaster  went  away  to  town  and  his 
place  was  supplied  by  a  new  man  discovered  by  one  of 
the  neighbors. 

Kogan  had  taught  very  effectively  all  that  he  professed, 
the  English  rudiments.  He  was  especially  noted  for  mak 
ing  good  scholars  in  numbers.  Kichard  Thornton,  now 
about  nineteen,  was  considered  his  best  scholar,  having  a 
natural  aptitude  for  this  branch.  He  soon  discovered  that 
the  new  master  was  wholly  incompetent,  a  mere  pretender ; 
and  the  new  master  seeing  himself  likely  to  fall  into  con 
tempt  with  such  an  advanced  scholar,  resolved  by  diplomacy 
to  effect  his  honorable  dismissal  from  the  school.  Accord 
ingly,  one  day  in  the  full  schoolroom,  having  fixed  the  at 
tention  of  all  by  rising  from  his  seat  and  rapping  on  his 
desk  with  a  ferrule,  he  ran  his  fingers  through  his  roach 
and  addressed  Dick  Thornton  in  the  following  words,  "Mr. 
Richard  Thornton,  take  yo'  grammar  an  yo'  slate  an  yo' 
cypherin'-book,  an  go  home  to  yo'  father.  You  are  as  high 
larnt  as  I  can  larn  you,  an?  fittin  for  any  business  what- 
somever." 

On  the  strength  of  this,  Richard  Thornton  always 
claimed  to  have  received  one  of  the  earliest  diplomas  ever 
conferred  in  Kentucky.  Thus  accredited,  he  went  to  The 
Falls,  and,  young  as  he  was,  soon  engaged  in  active  trade. 
He  was  by  nature  a  trader,  born  to  traffic  as  the  duck  to 
swim.  Thrown  into  the  company  of  the  many  traders  who 
frequented  the  office  of  John  Digby,  his  natural  appetite 
was  quickened,  and  having  gone  more  than  once  as  super 
cargo  of  broadhorns  with  valuable  freight  to  New  Orleans, 
in  which  business  he  acquitted  himself  with  credit,  Digby 
turned  over  to  him  a  part  of  a  trust  fund  in  his  hands 
belonging  to  Dick,  and  thenceforth  he  was  regularly  en 
gaged  in  trade.  Fitting  up  an  office  in  the  second  story  of 
Digby's  warehouse,  he  established  commercial  relations 
with  the  house  of  Vincent  Nolte  in  New  Orleans,  through 
whom  he  received  advices  of  the  market  at  home  and 
abroad,  and  made  many  successful  ventures.  One  of  these 
to  Mexico,  whither  he  went  with  tobacco,  accredited 
to  the  Spanish  government  by  Judge  Sebastian,  was  known 
fa  have  yielded  a  great  profit.  Afterward,  when  he  had  be- 


24  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

come  of  age,  a  large  purchase  of  black  furs  bought  about 
the  time  of  the  death  of  King  George  III,  which  put  more 
than  one  court  in  mourning,  brought  a  great  profit.  By 
these  hits  Dick  made  his  mark  among  the  trafficking  people 
of  The  Falls,  and  by  the  last  attracted  the  attention  of  Mr. 
Mclntyre,  an  Irish  merchant,  who  had  been  for  some  years 
engaged  in  buying  and  shipping  abroad  certain  staple  prod 
ucts,  especially  Tennessee  cotton  and  tobacco.  He  soon  in 
vited  Dick  into  his  office,  giving  him  the  benefit  of  much 
of  his  correspondence,  and  of  his  large  experience,  and  at 
last  formed  with  him  a  partnership. 

Lastlands  thus  deserted  by  the  daughter,  now  married, 
and  by  Dick,  firmly  established  in  trade,  became  a  lone 
some  place  for  the  remaining  son  Eobert,  then  approaching 
man's  estate.  The  father  was  full  of  anxiety  lest  he  too 
should  conceive  a  distaste  for  country  life,  and  his  scheme 
for  settling  his  children  at  Lastlands  end  in  failure.  Re 
solved  that  at  least  one  of  them  should  succeed  him  there, 
he  prepared  to  give  Robert  such  training  as  would  fit  him 
for  country  life;  and  a  brother  in  Virginia,  a  shipping 
merchant  at  Norfolk  without  family,  offering  to  send  him 
in  one  of  his  ships  to  England,  and  to  provide  for  his  main 
tenance  and  schooling  there  for  three  years  or  longer,  he 
was  sent  abroad  to  pass  two  years  in  a  technological  school, 
where  he  should  learn  all  about  the  principles  of  domestic 
architecture,  and  afterward  pass  a  year  with  an  English 
farmer  and  learn  the  best  methods  of  British  agriculture. 
This  was  on  the  very  eve  of  the  war,  the  danger  of  which 
the  father  ignored  in  his  eagerness  to  put  his  son  away 
from  the  seductive  influence  of  trade  at  The  Falls.  Thus 
it  happened  that  Robert  Thornton  passed  the  whole  period 
of  the  war  an  alien  in  the  enemy's  country.  The  course 
of  this  chronicle  cannot  be  turned  aside  to  recount  his  ex 
perience  in  so  novel  a  situation.  It  must  suffice  to  state 
that  he  was  not  disturbed  in  the  pursuit  of  his  studies. 
Some  quarrels  and  fights  at  fisticuffs,  such  as  occur  among 
boys  everywhere,  were  the  most  serious  results,  and  in  these 
he" was  treated  with  the  fair  play  characteristic  of  English 
men.  In  truth,  the  war  with  England,  great  affair  as  it 
was  in  our  eyes,  was  to  her  a  mere  episode  in  the  great  war 


Reginald  Thornton  25 

she  was  waging  against  Napoleon,  as  was  shown  by  the 
promptness  with  which  she  made  peace  after  Waterloo. 
And  for  our  part  we  acceded  to  a  treaty  that  did  not  settle 
a  single  issue  upon  which  we  had  gone  to  war. 

With  the  news  of  peace  came  news  of  the  arrival  of  Rob 
ert  Thornton  at  Norfolk.  There  he  remained  long  enough 
to  fall  in  love  with  an  old  sweetheart  of  his  childhood,  and 
having  received  the  approval  of  his  father,  though  not  yet 
twenty-one  years  of  age,  was  married,  and  in  the  fall  of 
1816  brought  his  wife  and  an  orphan  girl  four  years  old, 
bequeathed  to  her  by  its  dying  mother,  to  Lastlands.  There 
the  old  father  had  made  all  possible  preparation  for  the 
reception  of  the  young  couple.  He  had  put  in  readiness  for 
occupation  two  chambers  in  the  unfinished  mansion;  had 
caused  to  be  waxed  and  polished  the  floors  and  the  wains 
coting;  had  drawn  from  their  chests  what  silverware  he 
possessed,  now  black  from  long  disuse ;  had  brought  out  to 
Lastlands  the  little  Frenchman  Lange,  who  was  at  once 
the  cabinet  maker  and  the  fine  coffin  maker  of  the  town,  to 
mend  and  polish  the  old  heavy  solid  furniture;  had  provid 
ed  new  garments  for  the  household  servants ;  had  broached 
and  carefully  bottled  wine  that  had  lain  in  casks  for  more 
than  one  decade,  and  strained  his  slender  resources  of  mon 
ey  to  provide  something  like  the  liberal  hospitality  of  the 
Old  Dominion. 

Spite  of  its  unfinished  mansion,  Lastlands  now  presented 
an  attractive  sight.  But  not  much  of  it  was  to  be  seen 
from  the  highroad.  With  a  strange  love  of  seclusion,  these 
planters  buried  their  dwellings  in  the  heart  of  their  wide 
domains,  shut  out  from  view  by  primitive  woods;  and  the 
forests  along  the  highway  were  always  the  last  to  be  cut 
down.  Through  the  large  area  of  woods  and  fields  and 
pastures  the  Anser  flowed  in  a  tortuous  course,  winding 
and  sometimes  almost  doubling  upon  itself, 

"Five  miles,  meandering  with  a  mazy  motion, 
Through  woods  and  vale  the  sacred  river  ran." 

On  the  border  of  the  stream,  across  a  stony  ford  passable 
at  all  times  except  in  great  freshets,  was  the  entrance  to 
the  plantation.  On  a  slight  acclivity  stood  the  "big  gate" 


26  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

of  oak,  supported  by  two  huge  posts  of  mulberry,  each  sur 
mounted  by  a  heavy  stone  rudely  carved  into  the  figure  of 
an  acorn  in  its  cup.  The  gate  opened  into  a  primitive 
wood  through  which  along  the  roadway  could  be  seen  far 
off  the  light  of  a  clearing,  and  the  wood  growing  thinner 
and  lighter  as  the  road  advanced,  it  led  into  wide  open 
pastures  extending  along  both  sides  of  the  stream.  There 
a  distant  view  was  afforded  of  the  mansion,  again  to  be 
shut  out  by  intervening  clumps  and  groves.  Nothing  could 
exceed  the  care  and  circumspection  with  which  these  primi 
tive  woods  had  been  preserved.  Many  trees  were  festooned 
by  creepers  and  grape-vines,  these  last  covering  the  high 
tree-tops  with  a  network  of  vines  and  tendrils,  hanging 
thence  free  to  the  ground,  where  they  were  often  a  foot 
in  diameter.  All  these  were  left  untouched,  and  to  shield 
from  the  blistering  sun  the  trunks  of  trees  along  the  edge 
of  the  woods,  the  Virginia  creeper  had  been  profusely 
planted,  and  now  enveloped  them  with  its  graceful  foliage. 
Except  where  a  patch  of  cane  chanced  to  grow,  there  was 
in  these  woods  little  undergrowth;  only  scattered  groups 
of  paw-paws  with  their  cool,  shining,  lance-shaped  leaves, 
and  the  flowering  bulbs  that  love  the  shade,  blood-root  and 
Indian  turnip  and  ginseng,  enlivening  and  decorating  with 
foliage  and  flowers  the  shadowed  woodland.  Nowhere  was 
there  any  tangled  brushwood. 

Great  was  the  delight  and  surprise  of  Eobert  Thornton 
to  find  so  much  beauty  at  Lastlands.  For  a  full  month 
there  and  in  the  neighborhood  was  a  round  of  gaiety.  Par 
ties  of  visitors  from  the  country  about,  and  from  The  Falls, 
came  to  greet  the  young  couple,  and  they  were  entertained 
by  almost  every  planter  within  the  compass  of  the  county. 
Then  a  grand  entertainment  was  given  at  Lastlands,  when 
meats  were  barbecued,  and  the  mild  season  making  it  prac 
ticable  to  provide  in  the  unfinished  mansion  sleeping  quar 
ters  for  a  great  number,  the  festivity  was  kept  up  for  sev 
eral  days ;  the  game  which  swarmed  in  the  woods  and  fields, 
and  fish  from  the  unvexed  waters  of  the  Anser,  making  it 
easy  to  supplement  the  abundant  supply  of  substantial 
from  the  plantation  with  some  of  the  luxuries  of  the  table. 
Great  was  now  the  delight  of  the  old  father.  Already  he 


Reginald  Thornton  27 

saw  realized  the  dream  of  his  life.  "Bob  will  never  ex 
change  Lastlands  for  the  stony  streets  and  brick  walls  of 
the  town.  And  little  Dick  will  get  tired  of  them  after 
a  time  and  be  glad  to  join  us  here ;  I  see  it  all  now.  It 
will  all  come  out  right.  Bob  has  money  enough  to  finish 
the  house,,  and  with  a  thousand  acres  of  cleared  land  the 
plantation  will  take  care  of  all."  This  he  said  to  himself, 
chanting  a  kind  of  "Ca  ira"  over  the  prospect. 

After  almost  two  months  passed  at  Lastlands  the  young 
couple  paid  a  visit  to  The  Falls  as  guests  of  Mr.  John 
Digby.  There  they  were  kept  in  a  round  of  gaiety  extend 
ing  through  the  Christmas  holidays  and  almost  to  the  end 
of  the  winter. 

The  old  theater  had  been  torn  down  to  give  place  to  a 
new  house,  now  building,  but  private  theatricals  were  in 
augurated  under  the  management  and  direction  of  Dick 
Thornton's  partner,  Mr.  Mclntyre,  who,  spite  of  his  devo 
tion  to  business,  had  an  eye  to  pleasure,  and  was  full  of 
graceful  and  agreeable  accomplishments.  Being  an  excel 
lent  amateur  artist,  drawing  and  painting  with  much  skill, 
and  having  a  practical  knowledge  of  everything  that  per 
tains  to  private  theatricals,  he  was  at  once  scene  painter, 
decorator,  and  stage  manager.  These  exhibitions  were  long 
the  staple  diversions  at  The  Falls.  Among  many  private 
journals  in  the  possession  of  this  chronicler,  he  finds  fre 
quent  reference  to  them,  and  an  old  lady  of  high  distinc 
tion  told  him  that  at  an  earlier  day,  before  they  had  a 
theater  at  The  Falls,  she  saw  her  husband  for  the  first  time 
in  one  of  these  plays,  where  he  enacted  Tony  Lumpkin  in 
Goldsmith's  comedy.  But  she  took  care  to  add  that  hers 
was  not  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight. 

The  visit  of  the  young  couple  to  the  town  was  not  fa 
vorable  to  the  plans  of  Eeginald  Thornton  for  his  children's 
happiness.  The  young  people  were  now  in  turn  delighted 
with  the  gaiety  of  The  Falls.  Fashion  had  set  up  there 
one  of  her  many  vice-regal  thrones,  and  all  the  tinsel  and 
glitter  that  belongs  to  her  courts  everywhere  was  now  there, 
drawn  directly  from  the  imperial  court  at  Philadelphia; 
whatever  was  "de  rigeur"  there  being  at  once  adopted  at 
The  Falls.  Young  Mrs,  Thornton  was  a  country-bred 


28  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

young  gentlewoman,  and  the  novelty  of  this  gay  and  fash 
ionable  life,  so  unexpected  in  the  Kentucky  wilderness, 
filled  her  with  surprise  and  delight.  Equally  agreeable  was 
all  this  gaiety  to  the  young  husband,  who  saw,  as  he 
thought,  a  bright  commercial  future  in  the  little  town. 
With  great  public  spirit  he  set  about  identifying  himself 
with  its  interests,  liberally  sustaining,  by  subscriptions  of 
money  and  by  personal  services,  all  useful  public  enter 
prises.  Among  these  last  were  certain  public  buildings  for 
which  he  furnished  plans  and  specifications,  and  gratuitous 
ly  superintended  their  building.  His  faith  in  the  future 
of  The  Falls  was  manifested  further  by  the  laying  out 
of  considerable  sums  in  the  purchase  of  lots  in  the  central 
part  of  the  town,  and  also  a  considerable  area  in  the  ex 
tensive  commons  that  lay  around  it. 

Eichard  Thornton  looked  with  nmch  concern  on  these 
investments  of  his  brother.  Inheriting  much  of  the  de 
spondent  spirit  of  his  mother,  he  was  distrustful  of  the 
future.  In  all  his  dealings  he  touched  only  such  commod 
ities  as  were  readily  convertible  into  money ;  at  once  ac 
cepting  a  first  loss,  when  he  thought  he  had  made  an  un 
lucky  venture,  trusting  to  recover  that  in  another,.  To 
those  "long  shots"  in  land,  a  thing  cumbrous  and  incon 
vertible,  and  sold  usually  on  long  time,  he  had  an  invin 
cible  aversion.  "Carpe  diem"  was  his  practical  business 
maxim.  On  the  other  hand,  the  temperament  of  Robert 
Thornton,  inherited  from  the  father,  inclined  him  to  see 
everything  in  the  future  and  with  the  eagerness  of  youth 
to  discount  that  future — to  realize  as  near  at  hand  what 
only  the  lapse  of  years  was  likely  to  bring  about.  Having 
seen  in  England  the  great  value  set  upon  wood,  he  looked 
with  dismay  upon  the  wanton  destruction  of  valuable  tim 
ber  by  fire  and  in  the  construction  of  fences.  It  was  with 
.difficulty  he  was  persuaded  to  give  up  a  design  he  had  con 
ceived  of  buying  up  large  tracts  of  forest  land,  to  be  held 
for  appreciation  when  wood  should  become  scarce.  Both 
brothers,  according  to  their  several  dispositions,  were  soon 
busily  engaged  in  schemes  for  money-making;  Robert  in 
building  stores  upon  his  central  lots,  and  in  partnership 
with  Mr,  John  Digby  in  steamboats.  Then  news  was  re- 


Reginald  Thornton  29 

ceived  by  the  father  of  the  death  at  Norfolk  of  his  brother, 
leaving  in  equal  portions  considerable  legacies  to  him  and 
his  three  children,  and  with  this  news  came  from  the  father 
a  summons  to  a  family  convention  at  Lastlands,  to  consult 
upon  their  future  plans  of  life. 

Never  was  a  family  convention  less  likely  to  come  to  a 
harmonious  conclusion.  The  father  undertook  to  demon 
strate  that  the  best  course  was  for  all  of  them  to  settle  at 
Lastlands.  To  this  end  he  offered  to  convey  to  each  one 
of  the  children  one-third  of  the  estate  of  five  thousand 
acres.  Dick  Thornton  thought  the  country  would  exactly 
suit  Bob,  and  dreading  the  future  promised  by  his  san 
guine  temper,  used  all  the  persuasion  he  could  command  to 
induce  him  to  accept  the  father's  proposition ;  offering  him 
as  a  free  gift  the  third  to  be  allotted  to  himself.  But  the 
excitement  of  active  business  and  the  lively  society  of  the 
town  had  captivated  Eobert,  and  he  declined  this.  As  for 
Mr.  John  Digby,  he  abhorred  the  country,  and  would  not 
for  any  consideration  consent  to  stay  there.  And  so  to  the 
great  grief  of  the  old  father  he  was  left  alone,  his  chagrin 
alleviated  only  by  the  legacy,  which  enabled  him  to  prose 
cute  with  renewed  energy  his  labor  of  love.  His  children 
continued  to  make  frequent  visits  to  Lastlands.  Eobert 
and  his  wife  took  great  delight  in  the  country  as  a  place 
to  visit,  and  often,  in  winter  even,  passed  some  time  there; 
and  "Sister  Digby"  always  carried  there  her  children  in 
the  hot  months  of  summer.  Mr.  John  Digby  went  out  also 
at  regular  intervals,  prompted  solely  by  a  sense  of  duty. 
Dick  Thornton  went  there  but  seldom,  being  now  wholly 
absorbed  in  business  schemes.  All  looked  with  a  feeling 
of  compassion  upon  the  solitary  life  of  the  father,  and  not 
without  chagrin  at  seeing  so  much  money  expended  upon 
what  they  regarded  as  an  old  man's  hobby.  Then  they 
all  united  in  an  earnest  effort  to  induce  him  to  make  his 
abode  with  them  in  the  town.  But  this  he  refused  in  a 
few  decided  words :  "It  is  out  of  the  question.  I  will  live 
and  die  at  Lastlands." 

Thus  for  several  years  longer  the  affairs  of  the  family 
went  on.  At  last,  having  expended  on  the  mansion,  still 
unfinished,  and  in  laying  up  materials  for  future  improve- 


30  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

ment,  all  his  legacy,  the  old  father  carefully  secured  the 
unfinished  work  from  the  elements,  and  retired  into  his 
temporary  log  cabin,  to  await  there  some  new  turn  of  the 
wheel  of  Fortune.    He  was  now  an  old  man.     His  frame 
was  still  straight  as  of  old,  but  he  was  growing  slim,  his 
neck  a  scrag,  his  high  marked  features  sharpened,  and  the 
fine  curves  about  his  mouth  degenerated  into  unsightly 
wrinkles.    He  was  fast  growing  unequal  to  the  active  su 
pervision  of  the  work  of  the  plantation.    At  last,  as  if  sud 
denly  conscious  of  this,  he  gave  it  up  altogether.    He  went 
now  but  seldom  out  of  doors,  sitting  all  day  in  his  chamber, 
reading  or  nodding  over  a  book.    First  it  was  some  volume 
of  the  British  drama,  then  history,  and  at  last  the  Latin 
classics.     And  strange  to  say,  the  knowledge  of  Latin, 
which  for  years  seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  his  mind,  now 
came  back  to  him,  and  he  read   and   appreciated  these 
authors  more  clearly  than  ever  before.    Even  the  old  rules 
of  grammar,  learned  by  rote  in  his  youth,  now  recurred 
to  him,  and  were  constantly  rising  to  his  lips.     Old  Tom, 
his  "body-servant,"  and  the  household  servants  were  not  a 
little   puzzled    and   disturbed   on   hearing   him   repeating 
these:     "Utor,  abutor,  fruor,  fungor,  potior,  vescor  govern 
the  ablative."     Or  reciting  with  emotion, 

"Eheu!   fugaces,  Postume,  Postume " 

while  they  listened  with  frightened  faces,  and  conferring 
together,  were  convinced  that  the  master  was  either  losing 
his  wits  or  was  conjuring. 

The  friends  at  The  Falls  came  out  now  very  often  to 
Lastlands,  and  seeing  him  fast  failing,  and  struck  by  the 
change  in  his  habits,  again  endeavored  to  draw  him  into 
town,  but  in  vain.  Then  Robert  and  his  wife  again  took 
up  their  abode  with  him,  tenderly  and  assiduously  minis 
tering  to  him.  Gradually  he  grew  weaker  and  leaner.  One 
day  he  rose  early,  and  dressing  himself  with  unusual  care, 
walked  out  upon  the  grounds,  but  soon  returned,  tired,  and 
lay  down  upon  a  lounge,  and  said  to  Robert  Thornton, 
"Send  for  Susan  and  Digby  and  little  Dick.  Bob,  I  am 
going  to  die  to-morrow  I"  And  next  day  he  did  die,  and 


Reginald  Thornton  31 

was  buried  in  a  spot  marked  by  him  the  day  before,  by 
the  side  of  his  wife,  in  the  burying  ground  at  Lastlands. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  no  more  particular  account  can 
be  here  given  of  Reginald  Thornton.  It  may  be  added  that 
he  possessed  certain  traits  of  character  common  to  the  old 
planters  and  the  patriarchs  of  old,  whom,  in  their  manner 
of  life,  in  their  holding  of  numerous  slaves  and  in  their 
habit  of  independent  migration  into  new  lands,  they  much 
resembled,  as  they  did  also  in  a  certain  lofty  pride  and 
independence  of  character.  These  are  especially  patriarchal 
traits.  They  were  conspicuously  shown  by  Abraham  in  his 
behavior  in  that  first  of  all  wars  recorded  in  history,  when 
the  "kings"  from  beyond  the  Tigris  and  the  Euphrates 
invaded  Canaan,  and,  sacking  the  cities  of  the  plain,  car 
ried  off  Lot  and  other  captives  and  great  spoil ;  when  Abra 
ham,  gathering  and  arming  his  three  hundred  and  eighteen 
slaves  "born  in  his  house/'  leaving  behind  those  "bought 
with  his  money,"  followed  the  spoilers,  and,  attacking  them 
in  the  night,  beat  them  and  brought  back  all  the  captives 
and  the  spoil;  and  then,  though  by  the  law  all  this  spoil 
was  his,  would  take  nothing.  Nay,  when  the  king  of  Sodom 
remonstrated,  saying,  "It  is  all  thine,"  Abraham  cut  off 
further  parley  by  saying,  "I  have  lift  my  hand  to  the  high 
God  who  possesses  heaven  and  earth,  that  I  will  not  take 
from  a  thread  to  a  shoe  latchet — that  I  will  take  nothing 
that  is  thine."  And  why  ?  "Lest  thou  should  say,  'I  have 
made  Abraham  rich/ ';  It  was  for  him  to  bestow,  not  to 
accept  benefits.  Noblesse  oblige. 

Of  a  like  proud  and  independent  temper  were  these  old 
planters.  Wlien  from  the  decline  of  the  land,  or  by  reason 
of  too  generous  profusion,  or  from  any  cause,  one  of  them 
found  himself  no  longer  able  to  keep  his  state  at  home,  he 
gathered  together  his  slaves  "born  in  his  house,"  and,  if 
practicable,  those  "bought  with  his  money,"  and  with  these 
and  his  flocks  and  herds  sought  in  new  lands  a  new  home. 
They  knew  nothing  of  cooperative  schemes,  "syndicates," 
and  what  not,  but  were  each  a  syndicate  in  himself,  ready 
with  well-ordered  household  to  cope  with  all  the  savage  ele 
ments  of  the  wilderness.  By  a  continuous  series  of  such 
independent  migrations  they  redeemed  from  its  savage 


32  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

state  and  made  to  blossom  as  a  rose,  not  only  Kentucky, 
but  that  vast  area  beyond,  now  constituting  in  itself  an 
agricultural  empire;  earning  for  the  "Old  Dominion"  the 
new  and  nobler  title,  "Mother  of  States." 


CHAPTEE  III 

DRAMATIS    PERSONS 

IT  WAS  not  intended  to  give  any  particular  history  nor 
any  analysis  of  the  characters  of  persons  presented  in  this 
chronicle,  but  to  allow  each  one  to  unfold  himself,  in  talk 
and  in  the  incidents  and  res-gestce  of  the  narrative.  But 
some  of  them  the  chronicler  finds  to  be  undemonstrative  in 
such  a  degree  as  to  make  some  particular  account  of  these 
necessary. 

Of  Captain  Shelby  and  Mr.  Joe  Sterrett  it  may  be  said 
that  Captain  Shelby  had  come  from  Maryland,  that  he  had 
got  his  wife  in  Virginia,  that  she  had  died  at  The  Falls, 
leaving  one  child,  a  daughter;  that  he  had  been  the  guar 
dian  of  Mr.  Sterrett  during  his  minority,  and  on  his  com 
ing  of  age  had  given  him  his  daughter  in  marriage. 

The  Captain  had  a  fine  plantation  half  way  between 
The  Falls  and  Lastlands,  and  a  furnished  house  in  town, 
and  living  together  they  dwelt  alternately  in  town  and 
country.  In  Maryland  Captain  Shelby  had  been  addicted 
to  the  turf,  which  had  proved  an  expensive  amusement,  the 
cost  of  breeding  and  training  never  having  been  compen 
sated  by  his  winnings.  But  he  loved  the  turf  not  for  the 
hope  of  profit,  but  for  the  sport  and  because  of  his  fond 
ness  for  beautiful  thoroughbreds  themselves.  Before  leav 
ing  Maryland  he  had  sold  all  his  pets  except  one  gray  mare, 
which,  with  a  filly  foal  by  her  side,  he  brought  to  Ken 
tucky.  He  took  great  pride  in  this  mare,  often  brought  out 
for  exhibition  to  visitors,  when  he  delighted  to  rehearse  her 
performances  and  her  pedigree;  "Kose  of  May  by — dam 
Dy — grand-dam — by — ,"  etc.  "Look  at  her  outline — it  is  all 
Arabian,  and  she  has  the  oriental  countenance,  now  rare, 
and  the  strength  and  bone  given  by  English  breeding  to 

33 


34  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

her  race.  See  how  her  eyes  blaze  even  in  old  age !  Feel 
her  coat;  it  is  soft  as  satin.  Don't  mind  her  laying  back 
her  ears.  She  won't  bite;  she  always  had  a  proud,  dainty 
way,  but  was  never  vicious." 

The  Captain  had  forsworn  racing,  but  at  considerable 
expense  had  more  than  once  sent  this  mare  to  Virginia 
to  be  bred,  and  had  now  some  of  her  produce  in  his  pas 
tures  and  in  ordinary  use  on  the  plantation,  and  for  the 
saddle,  and  for  both,  he  maintained,  they  were  superior 
to  ordinary  horses.  After  the  marriage  of  his  daughter  he 
had  given  up  the  management  of  the  plantation  to  Sterrett, 
and  the  young  couple  lived  there  in  great  happiness,  the 
Captain  considering  himself  foot-loose  to  go  when  he  pleased 
on  camping  expeditions,  then  favorite  diversions,  while 
Sterrett  addicted  himself  to  the  rearing  of  domestic  ani 
mals,  horses  and  dogs,  and  to  the  sports  of  the  fields,  of 
which  he  was  very  fond.  He  was  in  a  fair  way  to  subside 
into  that  aimless,  harmless,  useless  character  described  aa 
a  "hunting,  hawking,  fishing,  country  gentleman,"  when 
he  was  persuaded  to  put  into  training  a  colt  of  the  old  mare. 
This  was  done  while  the  Captain  was  away,  camped  out  on 
a  deer  hunt,  and  when  he  returned  the  horse  was  in  the 
course  of  preparation  for  the  next  spring  races  at  Lexing 
ton  and  The  Falls. 

Spite  of  the  Captain's  resolutions  against  the  turf,  strong 
as  they  were,  they  weakened  under  the  extravagant  praise 
bestowed  upon  the  colt  by  Beard,  the  trainer.  Then  re 
calling  his  own  experience,  when  in  the  beginning  he  had 
been  successful,  and  how  near  he  had  come  to  being  in 
fatuated  by  the  sport,  and  how  hard  he  had  found  it  to 
break  off  from,  he  had  painful  misgivings  of  its  effect  upon 
Sterrett.  But  in  the  course  of  the  training,  when  he  saw 
the  colt  at  exercise,  with  sinewy  limbs  and  strong,  easy 
gallop,  reminding  him  of  the  old  dam  in  her  best  days,  he 
abandoned  all  remorse  and  was  filled  with  pride  and  grati 
fication  at  seeing  a  scion  of  the  old  stock  on  the  highroad 
to  fame  and  fortune.  Soon  he  found  himself  holding  long 
consultations  with  the  trainer  about  the  conduct  of  the 
racing  campaign,  examining  the  saddles  and  bridles  that 
Sterrett  had  got  from  Philadelphia,  sending  them  to  be 


Dramatis  Personce  35 

altered,  substituting  for  buckles,  wherever  that  was  prac 
ticable,  strong  stitching  with  waxed  silk  thread.  "The 
fewer  buckles  the  better,"  said  the  Captain.  "The  loss  of 
a  buckle  is  apt  to  be  the  loss  of  a  race.  Stitches  are  the 
best  fastenings." 

All  patrons  of  the  turf  know  something  of  this  horse 
Orrnus  and  his  brilliant  career.  It  was  short,  but  long 
enough  to  fix  Sterrett  permanently  on  the  turf,  and  he 
soon  had  a  "string"  of  colts  in  training  by  Beard,  under 
whose  direction  Ormus  had  always  borne  Sterrett's  colors 
to  the  front. 

A  demon  seems  to  take  charge  of  men  in  the  beginning 
of  all  forms  of  gambling,  and  to  lure  them  on  by  success. 
Mr.  Joe  Sterrett's  career  was  in  accordance  with  this. 
His  early  winnings  had  sufficed  to  put  his  stables  on  a 
good  footing,  but  afterward  bad  fortune  followed,  begin 
ning  with  the  disabling  of  Ormus,  cut  down  by  an  acci 
dent  in  a  race,  and  withdrawn  from  the  turf,  just  when 
he  had  reached  the  age  for  his  greatest  triumphs.  Then 
Sterrett  found  himself  returning  from  meeting  after  meet 
ing  without  having  won  a  race.  Meantime  the  expenses 
were  consuming  his  substance,  and  with  an  occasional  loss, 
when  he  backed  his  favorite,  in  the  course  of  time  threat 
ened  him  with  serious  embarrassment. 

Mr.  Ould  was  an  unmarried  lawyer  of  middle  age,  highly 
distinguished  at  the  bar.  He  was  proud  and  diffident,  and 
had  served  a  long  novitiate  before  he  obtained  or  even 
desired  practice,  studying  meantime  diligently  his  pro 
fession  in  all  its  departments,  and  practicing  various  forms 
of  literary  composition,  in  order  to  acquire  facility  of  ex 
pression.  His  first  case,  an  important  one  for  Mr.  John 
Digby,  was  managed  with  such  ability  as  brought  him  at 
once  to  the  notice  of  the  bar,  and  soon  after  he  accepted 
an  offer  of  partnership  from  an  older  lawyer  in  full  prac 
tice,  a  quick-witted  man,  with  a  showy  power  of  declama 
tion,  very  effective  with  juries,  but  indolent,  and  neglect 
ful  of  the  necessary  preparation  of  his  cases.  These  defects 
Ould  made  good,  by  preparing  the  cases  and  making  such 
a  summary  of  the  argument  as  made  it  easy  for  his  quick 
witted  partner,  conning  this,  to  deliver  himself  with  great 


36  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

effect.  Ould  took  great  delight  in  thus  vicariously  ad 
dressing  juries,  and  spoke  with  a  freedom  and  power  of 
which  he  would  have  found  himself  incapable  in  his  own 
person,  giving  his  partner  a  great  reputation  with  the  pub 
lic,  who  often  thronged  the  court-room  to  hear  him.  The 
astute  lawyers  were  not  slow  to  discover  Ould  behind  the 
mask,  and  the  honest  partner  attempted  no  concealment 
of  this.  It  was,  perhaps,  a  fair  and  proper  division  of 
labor,  but  not  proper  to  be  advertised  to  the  public. 

After  some  years  Quid's  partner  died  owing  him  several 
thousand  dollars,  for  which  he  had  mortgaged  to  Ould  his 
dwelling  and  a  few  slaves — all  he  possessed.  This  debt 
Ould  generously  acquitted  to  the  widow  and  children. 

To  this  good  character  it  irks  the  chronicler  to  add  that 
Mr.  Ould  was  at  long  intervals  addicted  to  drink,  nay,  fell 
into  the  wildest  orgies,  ending  in  a  sick  bed  and  necessary 
medication.  Yet  at  such  times  he  was  possessed  of  a 
strange  cunning  unknown  to  his  normal  condition,  by 
which  he  kept  out  of  view  of  his  ordinary  associates,  so 
that  hardly  any  one  of  them  had  seen  him  in  these  un 
happy  moments.  He  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Digby  and 
the  Thorntons. 

Stackpole  was  a  young  gentleman  who  had  come  to  The 
Falls  with  a  company  of  New  England  men  from  Provi 
dence  and  Boston.  He  was  a  son  of  a  Boston  merchant. 
He  had  passed  much  time  at  sea,  according  to  his  own  con 
fession,  to  avoid  being  sent  to  Harvard  College.  In  his 
various  voyages  he  had  pretty  nearly  circumnavigated  the 
globe.  He  had  acted  often  as  supercargo  of  his  father's 
vessels,  and  thus  acquired  much  mercantile  experience.  He 
seemed  to  have  capital  at  hand  for  any  promising  ven 
ture,  and  had  more  than  once  put  money  with  Dick  Thorn 
ton  in  his  early  venture  in  furs.  He  had  an  interest 
in  the  great  "Hope"  distillery,  but  gave  little  personal  at- 
tention'to  this,  leaving  the  management  to  his  partners, 
while  he  amused  himself  with  horses,  of  which  he  was  very 
fond,  and  by  taking  a  part  in  all  the  gaieties  of  the  town ; 
riot  with  the  heartiness  of  others,  but  in  a  strange  apathetic 
way  peculiar  to  him.  He  was  a  skilful  musician,  with  a 
fine  baritone  voice,  and  sang  uncommonly  well. 


Dramatis  Personse  37 

He  had  a  serious  impediment  of  speech — not  being  able 
to  sound  the  letter  r,  and  was  also  near-sighted.  The  last 
was  not  known  to  himself  until  after  he  had  been  some 
time  at  The  Falls.  Standing  one  day  with  others  at  the 
great  door  of  Digby's  warehouse,  looking  at  a  coming 
steamboat,  he  was  surprised  to  find  that  while  others  could 
see  to  read  the  name  of  the  boat  on  its  side,  he  could  only 
see  indistinctly  the  boat  itself.  Expressing  his  surprise 
at  this,  Eussell,  a  young  friend  of  the  Thorntons.,  who  some 
times  used  glasses,  said,  "Try  my  glasses";  and  putting 
these  on  he  was  filled  with  amazement  at  the  revelation  they 
made.  Afterward,  having  procured  glasses  better  suited 
to  his  defective  vision,  he  went  about  everywhere  gaily  sur 
veying  the  new  world  opened  to  him,  hailing  his  friends 
across  the  wide  streets,  and  crying  out  to  them  with  un 
common  emphasis,  "I  am  happy  to  see  you,"  which  at  that 
distance  he  had  not  been  before  able  to  do  with  distinct 
ness.  He  found  also  new  delight  in  the  theater,  where  be 
fore  he  had  not  seen  the  play  of  the  actors'  features,  but 
supposed  everybody  else  to  see  in  the  same  imperfect  way. 

As  to  sounding  the  letter  r,  he  could  never  do  this.  In 
vain  did  he  go,  like  the  great  Grecian  orator,  along  the 
river  beach,  practicing ;  repeating  selected  passages  in  which 
that  letter  often  occurred,  "Bound  the  rugged  rocks  the 
ragged  rascals  run  their  rural  race."  "Unrestricted,  unre 
strained,  free!"  What  he  made  of  the  first  of  these  the 
reader  may  imagine,  when  told  that  for  half  an  hour  every 
day  he  could  be  heard  repeating  the  last  in  this  fashion, 
"Unwestwicted,  unwestwained,  fwee!"  pronounced  with 
such  an  emphasis  as  to  imply  the  belief  that  he  was  rolling 
his  r's  in  good  style.  At  last  he  gave  up  all  effort  to  over 
come  this  impediment,  but  managed  by  slurring  the  sound 
of  this  letter  to  make  the  defect  little  observable.  In  sing 
ing,  except  with  such  songs  as  required  distinct  articulation 
of  the  words,  he  was  at  no  disadvantage.  Once,  however, 
in  a  later  part  of  the  period  embraced  in  this  chronicle, 
when  at  a  musical  entertainment  given  for  a  benevolent 
purpose,  he  sang,  in  sailor  costume  with  a  harpoon,  "The 
Sea."  Eussell  declared  that  the  effect  was  in  the  highest 
degree  farcical,  bringing  into  contempt  by  grogs  caricature 


38  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

that  fine  dramatic  song,  then  new;  and  he  earnestly  im 
plored  Stackpole  never  to  sing  it  again.  Stackpole  good- 
naturedly  promised  this,  provided  Russell  should  continue 
always  on  good  behavior  toward  him;  often  afterward 
threatening  Russell  with  this  song,  a  menace  which  Russell 
pretended  to  consider  inhuman  and  by  which,  humoring 
Stackpole,  he  always  suffered  himself  to  be  brought  to 
terms. 

The  love  of  music  had  brought  these  young  gentlemen 
into  association,  and  they  had  now  become  fast  friends. 
Together  they  made  the  most  important  part  of  all  the 
musical  entertainments  in  the  society  of  the  town,  and  often 
on  summer  nights  treated  the  belles  to  charming  serenades. 
Robert  Thornton  had  a  good  tenor  voice,  and  Mclntyre 
a  strong  nasal  basso,  and  they  often  sang  together.  In 
the  church  choir  they  figured  also.  Often  Russell  and 
Stackpole  went  together  to  the  Methodist  church,  where 
the  singing  was  of  a  hearty,  vigorous  style,  and  where  they 
delighted  to  swell  with  their  fine  voices  the  lively  hymns. 
"Brother  Stackpole"  and  "Brother  Russell"  were  always 
welcomed  with  a  smile  from  the  leading  singers  there,  who 
rejoiced  in  such  a  powerful  reinforcement,  and  always 
placed  them  where  their  voices  would  do  the  most  good. 
These  good  people  were  not  without  a  feeling  of  rivalry 
with  the  Calvinists  opposite,  and  their  last  hymn  was  al 
ways  sung  at  them.  "Come  around  next  Sunday,  Brother 
Mclntyre,"  the  leading  singer  would  say,  "and  we  will  blow 
those  Presbyterians  over  the  way  clean  out  of  the  water !" 
And  when  with  this  powerful  reinforcement  they  sang 

"Where  are  now  the  twelve  Apostles, 
(Crescendo)      Where  are  now  the  twelve  Apostles, 

Where  are  now  the  twelve  Apostles? — 
(Fortissimo')    Sa-f-e  in  the  promised  land." 

they  did  metaphorically  do  this. 

Tom  Long  was  an  ingenious  mechanic,  who  had  made  an 
improvement  in  the  steam  engine,  and  many  useful  and 
ingenious  inventions,  among  these  the  strong  hoisting  gear 
in  Mr.  John  Digby's  warehouse.  Like  many  men  gifted 
with  some  special  "faculty,  he  preferred  another  vocation 


Dramatis  Persona  39 

to  that  for  which  he  was  best  fitted,  and  was  better  known 
at  The  Falls  as  a  "quidnunc"  than  as  a  mechanic.  While 
it  might  have  been  said  of  him,  that  he  was  fit  to  stand  by 
Archimedes  and  give  direction,  it  was  said  of  him  that  he 
knew  almost  everything  that  occurred  about  The  Falls,  and 
that  what  he  did  not  know  he  suspected.  At  his  home  was 
a  workshop  with  forges  and  lathes  and  all  sorts  of  mechani 
cal  appliances.  But  he  seldom  did  any  hard  work  after 
having  achieved  a  moderate  competency.  He  was  one  of 
the  kindest  of  men,  and  was  always  at  the  service  of  such 
as  were  embarrassed  by  mechanical  difficulties — except  the 
seekers  after  perpetual  motion,  to  whom  he  would  never 
listen.  He  was  one  of  Digby's  clients,  and  a  grateful  friend 
of  Eobert  Thornton,  who,  in  the  financial  stress  of  1819, 
had  saved  his  home  from  sacrifice.  He  dwelt  on  a  half- 
acre  lot  on  the  edge  of  the  high  plateau  on  which  the  town 
stands,  overlooking  the  falls.  Having  no  children,  all  the 
care  of  Long  and  his  good  wife  was  to  dress  these  premises, 
which  with  garden  and  flowers  were  made  to  look  like  a  sec 
tion  of  Eden. 

For  another  character,  also  a  friend  of  Digby  and  Thorn 
ton,  and  still  more  undemonstrative  than  these,  a  whole 
chapter  will  be  required. 


CHAPTER  IV 

MR.   JACK  TAYLOR 

"Studentesque  a  non  studendo, 
Ut  lucus  fit  a  non  lucendo." 

MR.  JACK  TAYLOR  was  a  student  in  Quid's  office.  He 
did  not  purpose  ever  to  practice  law,  but  only  to  acquire 
such  knowledge  as  would  avail  him  in  business  transac 
tions.  He  was  a  bachelor,  with  a  modest  establishment, 
keeping  a  negro  man-servant  and  a  dog.  The  business 
of  the  man  was  to  saw  wood,  clean  the  office,  look  after  his 
master's  wash,  brush  his  clothes,  polish  his  boots,  and  make 
fires;  getting  his  board  at  the  tavern,  in  consideration  of 
services  as  waiter  at  the  table  there  twice  a  day,  and  sleep 
ing  at  "his  wife's  house."  Mr.  Taylor  constantly  main 
tained  that  no  negro  in  Kentucky  could  make  a  fire  or 
blacken  boots  "like  Dennis." 

The  dog  was  of  a  type  very  common  in  that  day,  both 
in  Virginia  and  Kentucky;  a  brown  and  yellow  dog  with 
a  white  breast,  and  a  white  circle  about  the  neck.  On  every 
plantation,  and  about  every  farmhouse  and  cabin  through 
out  the  two  States,  specimens  of  this  race  of  dogs  were 
then  to  be  seen,  all  bearing  a  strong  general  resemblance 
to  each  other,  and  all  named  "Ring,"  Though  Mr.  Taylor 
never  hunted,  he  constantly  maintained  that  there  was  not 
in  Kentucky  such  a  'coon  and  'possum  dog  as  Ring.  He 
was  fed  with  scraps  from  the  tavern  table,  and  slept  under 
Quid's  office. 

The  greater  part  of  Mr.  Taylor's  time  was  passed  in  his 
room  next  to  the  back  office,  lying  on  a  lounge  reading 
novels  and  newspapers,  meditating,  and  chewing  tobacco. 
In  the  summer  these  employments  were  diversified  by  the 
exercise  of  a  strange  dexterity  he  had  acquired  in  spitting 

40 


Mr.  Jack  Taylor  41 

on  flies.  In  this  he  was  a  wonderful  marksman,  being  sure 
of  his  aim  three  times  out  of  five,  at  a  distance  of  twenty 
feet.  During  the  season  he  was  in  constant  practice,  look 
ing  out  keenly  for  the  game,  and  losing  no  opportunity, 
except  where  it  was  too  plentiful,  when  he  passed  it  by, 
like  a  true  sportsman,  scorning  to  shoot  at  a  swarm.  He 
could  readily  adjust  his  charges  to  the  distance  and  size 
of  the  game,  from  the  lightest  pellet  to  such  a  flood  as 
would  whelm  a  grasshopper  or  even  a  mouse. 

The  full  enjoyment  of  this  sport  began  in  midsummer, 
when  first  appear  those  undersized  flies  which  unthinking 
people  take  for  flies  not  yet  grown,  those  pestiferous  small 
flies  which  alight  always  on  the  inner  edge  of  the  nostril, 
or  on  the  margin  of  the  lip,  or  adhere  to  the  corner  of  the 
eyelid,  and,  when  brushed  away,  settle  instantly  back  on 
the  same  sensitive  spot.  Certainly  an  aggravating  insect! 

A  little  later  in  the  season  there  comes  another  fly,  a 
biting  fly  that  seldom  attacks  man,  but  subsists  for  the 
most  part  upon  cattle  and  dogs ;  a  gentle  phlebotomist  pos 
sessing  something  of  the  soothing  power  of  the  vampire, 
taking  tribute  of  blood  without  disturbing  his  victim.  On 
the  legs  of  cattle  they  feed  unnoticed,  dropping  off  when 
filled,  affording  a  delicate  repast  for  fowls  and  birds  fol 
lowing  after.  From  sleeping  dogs  they  draw  blood,  inter 
rupted  only  by  a  tremulous  motion  of  the  sleeper's  ears. 
These  also  were  game  for  Mr.  Taylor.  He  knew  the  haunts 
of  these  flies  as  Mr.  Joe  Sterrett  knew  the  haunts  of  par 
tridges  and  snipes.  "The  undersized  fly,"  he  said,  "has 
no  well-defined  haunts,  consorting  with  the  mob  of  flies; 
but  the  biting  fly  is  somewhat  exclusive."  Fond  of  the 
full  blaze  of  the  sun,  these  are  usually  found  on  the  warm 
sides  of  fences  or  walls,  and  later  in  the  season  they  resort 
only  to  sunny  sheltered  places.  In  some  bright  little  angle 
they  then  gather  in  small  parties,  and,  with  wings  spread 
apart,  like  the  coat-tails  of  plethoric  men  buttoned  too  tight 
about  the  waist,  they  quarrel  and  fight  over  the  narrow 
warm  territory;  buzzing  about  each  other  in  lively  con 
flict,  "the  briskest  insect,"  as  Mr.  Taylor  expressed  it, 
"this  side  of  a  mud-dauber,"  and  wary  in  a  degree  beyond 
the  common  fly. 


42  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Still  later,  "in  the  very  wrath  of  the  summer,"  when  the 
dog-star  rages,  there  comes  "new  hatched  to  the  woeful 
time,"  another  fly,  a  small  gray  fly  with  a  soft,  noiseless 
flight,  and  a  fair,  benevolent  face;  but,  alack!  with  a 
mouth  of  fire,  liquid  fire,  with  which  he  touches  your  ankles 
and  scorches  them,  even  through  the  stoutest  stockings. 
These  were  particularly  annoying  to  the  few  old  gentlemen 
that  still  adhered  to  short-clothes,  touching  them  through 
their  hose,  and  interrupting  often  their  stately  speech  with 
sudden  exclamations  and  hasty,  undignified  slaps  on  the 
legs ;  for  no  human  fortitude  can  for  a  moment  withstand 
the  fiery  quality  of  their  touch.  These  flies  have  no  known 
haunts,  but  prey  singly,  like  lions  and  tigers.  They 
appear  in  almost  all  places  and  under  almost  all  circum 
stances.  Inconspicuous  in  color,  and  noiseless  in  flight, 
they  "come  like  shadows,  so  depart,"  manifesting  their 
presence  only  by  the  terrific  smart  they  inflict,  heightened 
always  by  that  potent  element — "the  unexpected."  They 
had  often  applied  the  cautery  to  Mr.  Taylor's  ankles,  in 
terrupting  his  meditation  and  making  him  slap,  and  stamp, 
and  sometimes  swear !  Against  them  he  was  always  on  the 
warpath.  It  was  a  treat  to  see  the  look  of  triumph  on  his 
face  when,  on  the  wing,  or  at  twenty  feet  away,  he  put  a 
charge  of  tobacco  juice  upon  one  of  these,  and  saw  the 
insect  vainly  struggling  in  the  mess! 

Odious  as  this  gray  biting  fly  was  to  Mr.  Taylor,  it  was 
even  more  hateful  to  his  humble  servitors,  the  man  and 
the  dog.  Many  an  "ouch !"  and  many  a  slap  in  vain  (yet 
sometimes  successful  and  greeted  with  a  scalp-halloo)  were 
heard  from  the  man.  And  the  dog  often  sprang  to  his  feet 
out  of  a  sound  sleep,  and  shaking  his  head  until  his  ears 
were  wrong  side  out,  and  standing  fixed  a  moment  with  a 
glare  of  horror  in  his  eyes,  rushed  into  darkness  and  safety 
beneath  the  office.  Seeing  the  dog  behave  in  this  manner, 
Mr.  Ould  asked  Dennis: 

"What  is  the  matter  with  the  dog?" 

"Bitin'  flies,  sah." 

"Horse  flies?" 

"No,  sah;  wuss  'an  horse  flies." 

"Bald-faced  flies?" 


Mr.  Jack  Taylor  43 

"Yas,  sah ;  dat's  him ;  got  a  high  forehead  like  a  nigger 
trader." 

It  will  be  seen  that  in  the  pursuit  of  Mr.  Taylor's  sport 
there  was  a  vein  of  sentiment;  and  this  was  made  more 
apparent  by  the  fact  that  the  harmless  blue-bottle,  in  gor 
geous  enameled  vest,  was  always  allowed  to  pass  by  on  his 
sounding  wings  unharmed. 

Mr.  Taylor  was  a  native  Virginian.  He  was  sure  to  let 
everybody  know  this — "Bawn  in  old  Virginia."  He  did 
not- count  as  Virginians  those  born  in  Kentucky  when  it 
was  a  part  of  Virginia;  and  he  even  made  a  distinction 
between  the  tide-water  Virginians  and  all  others,  and  by 
his  own  confession  had  often,  in  his  boyhood,  quarreled 
and  fought  with  other  boys  only  because" they  came  from 
"over  the  Ridge."  This  narrow  spirit  subsisted  a  long 
time  in  the  Old  Dominion,  and  was  the  fundamental  cause 
of  that  movement  in  the  public  mind  in  Kentucky  which 
threatened,  at  a  very  early  day,  a  severance  of  the  union, 
and  has  reconciled  the  people  of  West  Virginia  to  the  sepa 
rate  station  they  now  maintain. 

Mr.  Taylor's  education  was  very  defective.  Beyond  the 
rudiments  of  the  English  branches  taught  in  the  schools 
of  the  day,  he  knew  little.  For  a  time,  being  ambitious 
of  an  accomplishment,  he  took  lessons  in  the  French  lan 
guage  from  one  of  the  old  emigres  at  The  Falls,  but  finding 
himself  unable  to  master  the  difficulties  of  the  pronuncia 
tion,  and  having  practiced  the  word  "moi"  for  six  weeks, 
and  continuing  still  to  pronounce  it  "nioy,"  and  finding 
other  like  difficulties,  he  abandoned  the  study,  declaring 
his  belief  that  if  he  had  been  born  in  France  he  would  have 
been  dumb. 

His  indolence  was  a  thing  wonderful  to  contemplate. 
He  had  chosen  the  law  because  it  was  a  sedentary  occupa 
tion.  Sitting  he  could  endure  to  any  extent.  The  punish 
ment  of  Theseus,  condemned  to  sit  forever,  he  would  not 
have  comprehended.  "Sedet,  aeternumque  sedebit,"  would 
have  raised  no  image  of  horror  in  his  mind.  Most  men  of 
sedentary  habits  are  story-tellers  or  singers,  but  Mr.  Taylor 
had  neither  song  nor  story  for  any  company.  Nor  was  he, 
like  the  Irishman  in  the  same  category,  "ready  to  foight 


44  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

with  anny  gintleman  for  the  amusement  of  the  company," 
being  eminently  good-tempered.  He  had  a  cheerful  coun 
tenance,  and  often  smiled.,  but  very  few  people  had  ever 
heard  him  laugh.  Once,  and  once  only,  was  he  ever  known 
to  laugh  aloud.  It  was  late  at  night,  when  he  and  other 
young  men  were  assembled  for  Christmas  festivity,  and 
being  pretty  merry,  and  curious  to  know  if  it  were  possible 
to  make  Mr.  Taylor  laugh  aloud,  and  having  tried  many 
ways  without  success,  his  companions  fell  to  tickling  him. 
The  result  was  tremendous !  The  chronicler  laments  that 
he  cannot  describe  it,  or  find  in  history  or  romance  a  paral 
lel  by  which  to  give  the  reader  some  just  notion  of  the  burst 
of  laughter  thus  extorted  from  Mr.  Taylor.  He  has  in 
mind  that  extraordinary  fit  of  laughter  recorded  of  Dr. 
Johnson,  when  he  came  out  of  Temple  Bar,  after  hearing 
of  the  last  will  and  testament  of  his  friend  Bennett  Lang- 
ton;  how  "he  continued  it  all  the  way  out  of  the  Temple 
gate,  then  burst  into  such  a,n  explosion  that  he  seemed  in 
a  convulsion,  and  in  order  to  support  himself,  laid  hold 
on  one  of  the  posts  of  the  sidewalk,  and  sent  forth  peals 
so  loud,  that  in  the  stillness  of  the  night  his  voice  seemed 
to  resound  from  Temple  Bar  to  Fleet  Ditch."  Nor  is  he 
unmindful  of  that  burst  from  Herr  Teufelsdroch,  the  great 
clothes  philosopher,  excited  by  hearing  Jean  Paul's  proposal 
for  a  cast-iron  king :  "Like  the  neighing  of  all  TattersaH's, 
tears  streaming  down  his  cheeks,  pipe  held  aloft,  foot 
clutched  in  the  air,  loud,  long,  continued,  uncontrollable." 
But  these  bear  no  resemblance  to  what  he  would  describe. 
No,  no;  if  anything  may  be  found  like  it,  it  must  be  in 
the  great  Homer;  and  hardly  there,  except  there  be  found 
some  description  of  the  Cyclop,  Polyphemus,  in  a  convul 
sion  of  laughter.  So  he  must  try  to  give  a.  faint  notion 
of  this  fit,  not  of  merriment  (for  it  should  not  be  called 
that)  but  of  genuine  "Homeric"  laughter,  invoking  on 
the  part  of  the  reader  the  liveliest  exercise  of  his  imagina 
tion. 

As  has  been  said,  the  result  of  the  tickling  was  tremen 
dous  ;  a  noise  so  loud,  so  unusual,  so  unearthly,  that  they 
that  were  engaged  in  tickling  instantly  released  him,  "and 
back  recoiled"  at  the  sound  they  had  evoked;  a  sound 


Mr.  Jack  Taylor  45 

ghostly  and  indescribable.  Like  that  thrilling  scream 
which  the  horse,  at  other  times  mute  under  pain,  is  said 
to  utter  in  some  desperate  strait — in  a  ship  on  fire  at  sea, 
or  other  like  extremity.  People  with  pale  faces,  running 
from  all  parts  of  the  house  toward  the  room  from  which 
the  sound  proceeded,  were  met  by  Taylor's  companions 
hastening  out  to  explain,  that  what  had  made  their  "fell 
of  hair  to  rouse  and  stir"  was  "only  Jack  Taylor  laughing." 
No  one  who  heard  him  then  was  ever  again  inclined  to 
excite  him  to  laughter. 

Mr.  Taylor  had  a  certain  awkwardness  of  speech,  not  un 
common.  Oysters  he  always  called  "oyschers";  challenge 
he  called  "channelge,"  and  corner  "cornder."  Common 
hackneyed  Latin  phrases  he  was  sure  to  have  ridiculously 
wrong.  This  is  not  uncommon,  either;  for  we  know  that 
from  "hoc  est  corpus,"  words  used  in  the  Sacrament  of  the 
Eucharist  in  the  Eoman  Church,  has  come  the  phrase 
"hocus  pocus;"  and  from  these  words  of  an  invocation  to 
St.  Martin,  "0  mihi  bea'te  Martine !"  has  come  that  com 
mon  saying,  "All  in  my  eye.  Bettie  Martin."  Further,  the 
Latin  phrase,  "nolens  volens,"  has  been  called  "snolus 
bolus,"  and  we  know  not  what  else.  But  it  was  left  for 
Mr.  Taylor  to  make  a  wider  departure  from  the  original 
than  any  of  these.  In  his  mouth  "nolens  volens"  became 
"bolus  noxious." 

He  was  greatly  puzzled  to  understand  what  is  a  pun. 
The  present  chronicler  undertook  to  expound  this,  and  il 
lustrated  it  by  an  example  furnished  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment.  Being  himself  a  man  of  small  stature,  he  told 
Mr.  Taylor  that  if  he,  the  present  chronicler,  were  unhap 
pily  addicted  to  punning,  it  would  be  a  pun  to  call  him  a 
"pun-y  man" ;  Mr.  Taylor  seemed  to  understand  the  point, 
but  long  afterward,  when  sitting  together,  while  Mr.  Taylor 
was  reading  Prentice's  Journal,  he  called  out,  "Pioneer, 
here's  a  pun  or — something" ;  and  then  read  out  from  the 
paper  the  following:  "Colonel  Quitman  caned  the  editor 
of  the  Natchez  Free-Trader.  The  editor  of  the  Natchez 
Free-Trader  caned  F.  E.  Plummer.  We  suppose  F.  E. 
Plummer  will  now  cane  some  nigger." 

So  Mr.  Taylor  was  not  yet  clear  upon  what  constitutes 


46  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

a  pun,  and  the  chronicler,  thinking  this  a  case  in  which 
ignorance  is  bliss,  did  not  attempt  further  to  enlighten 
him. 

It  must  not  be  inferred  from  all  this  that  Mr.  Taylor 
was  wanting  in  sense;  he  was  far  from  that.  Though  lack 
ing  such  learning  as  young  gentlemen  of  his  opportunities 
usually  possessed,  he  had  a  fund  of  practical  sense,  com 
monly  known  as  "horse  sense,"  which  enabled  him  to  take 
good  care  of  a  small  patrimony  he  had  brought  to  Kentucky 
in  cash,  and  to  invest  it  safely ;  and  from  which  he  derived 
a  revenue  sufficient  for  his  modest  way  of  life.  Indeed, 
he  had  added  something  to  his  capital  every  year  since  he 
came  to  The  Falls.  He  was  a  firm  believer  in  the  potency 
of  interest.  "Six  per  cent,  compounded,"  he  used  to  say, 
"will  devour  the  world."  So  he  always  backed  the  tortoise, 
Interest,  against  the  hare,  Speculation.  The  subject  of 
interest  occupied  Mr.  Taylor's  mind  at  all  times.  They 
that  wondered  what  were  his  thoughts,  while  he  sat  so  per- 
severingly  meditating,  with  a  faint  smile  often  on  his  face, 
would  have  been  surprised  to  know  that  he  was  then  exer 
cising  himself  in  mental  arithmetic — solving  problems  in 
interest.  He  was  full  of  such  illustrations  of  the  power 
of  interest  as  that  statement,  now  going  the  rounds  of  the 
newspapers,  that  the  sum  originally  paid  to  the  Indians  for 
Manhattan  Island,  compounded,  would  buy  the  city  of  New 
York  and  the  whole  State  to  boot. 

Exclusive  dealing  with  money  is  said  to  harden  the  heart, 
making  it  insensible  to  the  suffering  of  others.  Doubtless 
it  does  have  this  effect  as  to  one  form  of  suffering — suffer 
ing  from  want  of  money — from  mere  familiarity  with  that 
ailment.  But  it  does  not  follow  that  it  makes  the  heart 
insensible  to  suffering  in  other  forms.  Mr.  Jack  Taylor 
had,  from  long  commerce  with  borrowers,  grown  callous  to 
their  distresses,  but  he  was  by  no  means  hardened  to  other 
forms  of  suffering.  The  metal  had  not  entered  his  soul. 
While  he  did  not  without  a  struggle  give  up  money,  even 
in  aid  of  the  sick,  yet  in  the  time  of  the  pestilence  no  man 
was  more  constant  than  he  in  personal  attendance  upon  the 
afflicted.  Though  not  so  efficient  as  others  in  such  service 
as  required  active  movement,  he  was  always  to  be  relied  on 


Mr.  Jack  Taylor  47 

for  any  sedentary  service.  To  sit  up  with  such  as  required 
unremitting  attention  he  had  no  superior.  He  was  not 
of  a  somnolent  habit,  nor  ever  so  preoccupied  as  to  be  un 
conscious  of  what  went  on  about  him,  but  was  easily 
attracted  by  a  call,  and  his  patience  and  gentleness  were 
invincible.  With  a  supply  of  tobacco,  and  an  open  window 
where  he  might  spit  out  at  the  fire-flies,  he  would  sit 
through  the  night  without  winking,  "out-watching  the 
Bear."  And  no  base  fear  of  contagion  ever  disturbed  his 
mind. 


CHAPTER  V 

MAJOR  TIIKOCKMORTON" 

"Dr.  Johnson:  No,  sir;  there  is  nothing  yet  contrived  by 
man  by  which  so  much  happiness  is  produced  as  by  a  good 
tavern." 

THE  year  1825  opened  with  great  commercial  activity 
and  prosperity,  and  closed  with  disaster,  all  over  the  com 
mercial  world.  Nowhere  was  this  disaster  greater  than  at 
The  Falls.  The  financial  stress  that  had  followed  the  peace 
in  1815,  though  short-lived,  was  disastrous,  but  this  was 
still  more  destructive.  Robert  Thornton  had  come  home 
in  the  midst  of  the  first,  and  the  investments  in  town  lots 
then  made  by  him  had  proved  in  the  highest  degree  profit 
able.  When  in  1838  a  branch  of  the  Bank  of  the  United 
States  was  established  at  The  Falls,  and  immediately  after 
ward  one  hundred  independent  State  Banks,  with  an  aggre 
gate  capital  of  eight  millions  of  dollars,  were  chartered 
by  the  Legislature,  and  the  State  filled  with  paper  money, 
there  was  an  advance  in  the  value  of  every  kind  of  property. 
In  real  estate  at  The  Falls  this  advance  was,  in  some  in 
stances,  more  than  three  hundred  per  cent.  Robert  Thorn 
ton,  having  then  conceived  a  project  that  would  involve 
the  expenditure  of  a  large  sum  of  money,  had  sold  the 
greater  part  of  his  town  property,  and  at  the  suggestion, 
and  through  the  address  of  his  brother  Dick,  placed  the 
money  in  the  United  States  Bank.  In  the  following  year, 
when  all  the  hundred  State  Banks  failed,  and  property  of 
every  kind  declined  even  below  its  former  value,  he  was 
one  of  the  few  that  escaped  loss,  and  was  considered  a 
marvel  of  sagacity  and  foresight.  He-  came  also  to  be 
considered  a  marvel  of  generosity  and  beneficence;  for  not 
only  did  he  refuse  to  take  advantage  of  the  general  disaster 

48 


Major  Throckmorton  49 

to  drive  bargains,  but  often  without  interest,  and  some 
times  without  security,  he  gave  to  those  in  distress  the 
use  of  his  money.  With  the  spirit  of  a  knight-errant  he 
sought  out  cases  of  oppression  and  distress,  and  in  many 
instances  interposed  his  strong  arm  between  the  usurer 
and  his  prey;  paying  the  usurious  loan  and  substituting 
himself  as  creditor,  at  lawful  interest;  enjoying  in  this 
work  the  keenest  sense  of  happiness,  and  winning  golden 
opinions  from  all  sorts  of  men. 

The  project  Thornton  had  conceived  was  in  accordance 
with  the  traditions  of  his  English  blood.  As  the  French 
men  at  The  Falls,  true  to  their  national  traditions,  had 
built  a  fine  ballroom,  Thornton  resolved  to  build  a  fine 
tavern ;  one  that  should  be  in  harmony  with  the  advanced 
civilization  of  the  day,  and  give  to  the  many  strangers, 
tourists  and  others  that  now  visited  The  Falls,  a  just 
notion  of  the  refinement  and  culture  of  the  community. 
The  tavern  was  built  and  furnished,  and,  no  responsible 
tenant  offering,  it  was  put  in  charge  of  a  popular  man 
accustomed  to  the  business,  to  be  managed  by  him  on 
Thornton's  account.  This  had  proved  a  losing  business, 
and  now,  in  1825,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  years,  he  found 
this  tavern,  having  consumed  the  greater  part  of  his  capi 
tal  in  the  building  and  furnishing,  likely  to  consume  the 
remainder  in  his  proprietorship. 

The  financial  panics  of  that  day  sorely  perplexed  the 
people  of  The  Falls.  They  had  seen  them  in  the  past  come 
on  at  intervals,  always  without  any  intelligible  warning, 
like  summer  gusts.  And  now  the  only  recognized  prognos 
tics  were  the  movements  of  the  Branch  Bank  of  the  United 
States.  When  this  bank  began  to  call  in  its  credits,  press 
ing  its  debtors  and  refusing  to  make  new  loans,  everybody 
apprehended  a  money  crisis.  One  thing  more  they  came 
to  know,  that  if  there  was  money  trouble  in  London,  it 
would  soon  reach  them  here  with  aggravated  force;  that 
what  was  there,  as  a  sailor  would  say,  "a  lively  gale  off  the 
land,"  would  become,  when  it  reached  America,  a  destruct 
ive  hurricane  blowing  ashore,  and  in  the  interior  a  desolat 
ing  tornado.  Mclntyre  and  Dick  Thornton,  either  by  reason 
of  their  constant  foreign  correspondence,  or  because  of  their 


50  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

constitutional  caution,  had  gone  safely  through  all  these 
storms,  and  were  now  safely  moored  to  the  land  in  this. 

The  prognostics  of  a  financial  storm  had  now  for  some 
time  been  observed.  The  Branch  Bank  at  The  Falls  had 
long  been  quietly  and  steadily  contracting  its  loans,  and 
throughout  the  South  gathering  up  coin;  sweeping  away 
even  the  "cut  money" — triangular  bits  of  silver  made  by 
the  shears  of  the  coppersmiths  for  necessary  change,  and 
sending  these  off  to  strengthen  the  mother  bank  at  Phila 
delphia.  It  was  soon  manifest  to  the  dullest  financial 
understanding  at  The  Falls  that  a  financial  cyclone  was 
afoot.  Property  of  every  kind  began  rapidly  to  decline 
in  value,  and  soon  no  man  in  debt,  no  matter  what  might 
be  the  extent  of  his  possessions,  was  safe  from  bankruptcy. 
And  here  it  is  curious  to  observe  how  in  this  case  the 
conduct  of  the  people  differed  from  that  exhibited  by  them 
in  a  former  general  calamity,  when  the  hand  of  pestilence 
was  upon  them.  There  was  now  none  of  the  courage  and 
magnanimity  then  shown,  but  a  wild  panic  and  a  cry  of 
"sauve  qui  pent" — the  devil  take  the  hindmost.  Creditors 
flew  to  the  courts,  and  all  the  enginery  of  the  law  was  re 
morselessly  put  in  motion  against  the  unfortunate  debtors. 
Why  was  the  conduct  of  this  community  so  different  in 
these  cases?  Is  there  in  money  some  poisonous  element, 
having  relation  to  the  heart  of  man,  which  deadens  all  its 
finer  impulses,  and  rouses  all  its  selfishness?  And  was 
now  the  conduct  of  the  people  of  this  little  town  but  an 
other  illustration  of  that  invincible  maxim  in  trade,  "Busi 
ness  is  business"? 

In  this  financial  crisis  Eobert  Thornton  was  deeply  in 
volved.  For  a  time  his  well-known  integrity,  and  his  large 
possessions  in  land  and  slaves,  and  his  splendid  tavern,  with 
costly  furniture,  gave  confidence  to  creditors,  and  they 
forbore  to  sue.  But  as  the  panic  increased,  some  suits  were 
brought  against  him,  and  the  affairs  of  the  whole  com 
munity  seemed  in  the  way  of  complete  liquidation. 

Thornton  still  had  faith  in  the  value  of  his  property. 
He  thought  the  storm  would  soon  blow  over.  Two  friends. 
Captain '  Shelby  and  Mr.  Joe  Sterrett,  both  possessed  of 
money,  and  free  from  business  complications,  offered  the 


Major  Throckmorton  51 

use  of  their  money  to  rescue  his  property,  but  he  declined 
to  accept  their  generous  offers,  and  resolved  to  bide  the 
issue  alone.  Mr.  John  Digby  was  involved  in  the  general 
disaster,  and  could  give  no  help.  Dick  Thornton  urged 
his  brother  to  let  every  town  lot  and  the  tavern  go  to  pay 
his  debts,  insisting  that  the  storm  had  not  reached  its 
height.  But  Thornton  held  his  opinion,  firmly  convinced 
that  the  tavern,  if  only  a  proper  manager  could  be  got, 
would,  in  a  reasonable  time,  pay  all  his  debts.  Possessed 
of  this  opinion,  he  resolved  to  visit  Major  Throckmorton, 
then  proprietor  of  the  Blue  Lick  Springs,  and  induce  him 
to  take  charge  of  it.  That  the  reader  may  have  relief  from 
the  contemplation  of  these  painful  scenes  of  financial 
trouble,  some  account  of  the  Major,  and  of  Thornton's 
visit  to  the  Blue  Licks  on  this  mission,  will  now  be  given. 
The  reputation  of  Major  Throckmorton  as  a  host  was 
spread,  not  only  over  the  State,  but  over  the  whole  South, 
from  which  quarter  a  great  many  people  came,  every  year, 
to  spend  the  summer  in  Kentucky,  the  Blue  Licks  being 
their  favorite  resort.  The  Major  belonged  to  that  class 
of  tavern-keepers,  peculiar  to  Kentucky  and  Virginia,  who 
carried  into  their  business  all  the  grace  and  courtesy  that 
marked  the  fine  gentlemen  of  that  day.  He  seemed  more 
like  a  grandee  dispensing  magnificent  hospitality  than  the 
keeper  of  a  public  house.  In  his  social  relations  he  was 
on  a  footing  of  equality  with  the  most  distinguished  people 
of  the  State.  Mr.  Clay,  Mr.  Crittenden,  Hon.  Eobert 
Letcher  and  other  distinguished  gentlemen  were  at  some 
time  during  every  summer  the  Major's  guests.  A  game 
of  whist  made  up  of  these  three  and  the  Major  was  an 
everyday  thing.  They  played  whist  "with  the  aggrava 
tions,"  as  the  phrase  went:  besides  the  interest  excited  by 
the  stake  there  being  great  personal  rivalry  as  to  skill  in 
the  game,  and  lecturing  and  scolding  went  on  pretty  much 
ad  libitum : 

"Sir,  I  protest,  were  Job  himself  at  play, 

He'd  rave  to  see  you  throw  your  cards  away ; 

Not  that  I  care  a  button — not  a  pin 

For  what  I  lose;  but  we  had  cards  to  win. 

A  saint  in  heaven  would  grieve  to  see  such  hand 

Cut  up  by  one  who  will  not  understand!" 


52  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

They  could  all  scold  in  a  high  key  except  Mr.  Letcher,  who 
had  a  fund  of  humor  with  which  he  parried  all  assaults, 
and  turned  the  laugh  against  his  adversaries.  Infinite 
amusement  was  afforded  the  privileged  few  who  were  per 
mitted  to  look  on  at  this  game. 

It  was  observahle  in  the  association  of  these  gentlemen 
at  the  whist  table  and  elsewhere,  that  the  Major,  though 
defective  in  education,  having  had  but  scant  facilities  for 
instruction  in  his  youth,  and  having  no  pretensions  to  more 
than  ordinary  mental  endowments,  was  yet  among  these 
men  so  highly  distinguished  for  talents  and  public  service, 
so  far  as  manner  and  carriage  were  concerned,  the  equal  of 
any  of  them.  Indeed,  it  is  not  unlikely  that  to  a  casual 
observer  he  would  have  appeared  the  finest  gentleman  of 
them  all.  He  had  some  grave  foibles.  He  was  as  irascible 
as  Sir  Anthony  Absolute;  but  then  he  was  as  benevolent 
as  Uncle  Toby,  and  never  let  the  sun  go  down  on  his  wrath. 
In  these  heats  he  often  made  blunders  that  were  almost 
bulls,  which  always  put  his  audience  in  good  humor.  Had 
he  been  born  in  Ireland,  it  is  likely  that  he  would  have 
been  as  famous  for  bulls  as  Sir  Boyle  Eoche.  He  was  al 
most  universally  popular.  Such  a  man  Thornton  believed 
would  be  able  to  put  his  tavern  on  the  footing  to  which 
its  location  and  its  superior  accommodations  entitled  it; 
a  journey  in  the  fine  October  weather  was  a  pleasant  thing 
in  itself;  and  he  at  once  put  the  project  into  execution. 
Attended  by  old  Tom  Strother,  his  former  body-servant, 
well  mounted,  with  portmanteau,  umbrellas,  and  great 
coats,  he  was  soon  upon  the  road,  and,  without  any  event 
worth  recording,  reached  at  nightfall  a  tavern  within  a 
few  miles  of  the  Blue  Licks,  whence,  by  an  early  start  next 
day,  he  might  arrive  at  his  destination  by  breakfast  time. 

On  the  road  next  morning  he  overtook  two  horsemen 
riding  in  the  same  direction.  One  was  a  large  portly  man, 
mounted  upon  an  Indian  pony.  He  was  of  a  ruddy  com 
plexion,  with  yellow-red  hair,  worn  long,  hanging  about 
his  neck,  and  covering  his  ears.  He  was  clad  substantially 
in  blue  cloth,  with  brown  leggings  tied  below  the  knee,  a 
drab  beaver  hat,  sound  but  much  sunburned,  and  a  black 
satin  waistcoat,  behind  which  showed  a  frill  of  ruffled 


Major  Throckmorton  53 

lace,  much  rumpled  and  soiled.  From  a  watch  pocket  in 
his  trousers  hung  a  heavy  gold  chain,  with  a  very  large 
bunch  of  seals.  The  other  traveler  was  a  well-dressed, 
clean-shaven  little  man,  mounted  upon  a  handsome,  blood- 
like  bay  horse.  Both  had  portmanteaus  and  the  usual 
appointments  of  persons  going  a  journey.  As  Thornton 
came  within  ear-shot  of  them,  he  discovered  that  they  were 
discussing  the  political  issues  of  the  day,  and  were  in  the 
midst  of  a  hot  dispute;  the  big  man  being  an  original 
Jackson  man,  of  the  fiercest  type,  and  the  other  a  zealous 
follower  of  Mr.  Clay.  The  dispute  grew  warmer  every 
moment,  the  big  man  growing  violent  and  abusive,  while 
the  other,  though  maintaining  his  opinion,  was  still  cour 
teous.  At  last  the  big  man,  pulling  up  his  pony,  proposed 
to  dismount  and  settle  the  matter  by  a  fight.  This  the 
little  gentleman  declined,  saying:  "No,  sir;  by  no  means. 
I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  settling  political  disputes  by  fisti 
cuffs.  The  road  forks  here,  sir,  and  I  bid  you  good-morn 
ing."  And  then  he  turned  away  upon  the  right-hand  road. 

Thornton,  not  caring  to  join  such  a  belligerent  character 
as  the  big  man,  put  his  horse  into  a  gallop,  and,  followed 
by  old  Tom,  was  soon  out  of  sight  of  him.  Keeping  up  a 
pretty  good  gait,  they  arrived  at  the  Blue  Licks  just  as  the 
Major  and  his  family  and  a  single  guest,  Mr.  Isham  Talbot, 
ex-United  States  Senator,  were  about  to  sit  down  to  break 
fast.  All  other  guests  had  flown  away  with  the  summer, 
leaving  the  ex-Senator,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  the 
waters  there  as  long  as  good  weather  lasted.  They  had  a 
venison  steak  for  breakfast,  a  party  of  hunters  having  gone 
away,  after  a  week  of  sport  at  the  Licks,  leaving  their  guns, 
and  promising  soon  to  return,  having  provided  the  Major 
with  an  abundant  supply  of  venison. 

After  breakfast,  while  the  gentlemen  sat  on  the  porch, 
talking  and  smoking,  in  the  October  sun,  a  large  man,  the 
belligerent  whom  Thornton  had  passed  on  the  way,  rode 
up  to  the  stile  and  dismounted.  Hitching  his  pony  to  the 
rack,  and  carrying  his  saddlebags  on  his  arm,  he  walked 
in.  The  Major  advanced,  offering  him  9,  chair^  and  asked ; 

"Will  you  have  breakfast,  sir  ?" 
sir," 


54  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"Will  you  have  your  horse  fed  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

Then  the  Major  went  into  the  house  to  give  orders  for 
the  breakfast  of  the  traveler,  who  was  now  looking  about 
him  with  a  surly,  dissatisfied  air.  By-and-by  the  Major 
came  back,  and  said:  "Sir,  breakfast  will  be  ready  in  a 
few  minutes." 

The  big  man  made  no  response,  but  continued  to  look 
about  in  a  surly  way,  and  at  last  said :  "Don't  you  take  the 
newspapers  here  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  the  Major,  and  Mr.  Talbot,  who  had 
a  paper  then  in  his  hand,  rose  and  courteously  handed  it 
to  the  traveler.  He  took  it  without  a  word  or  a  gesture  of 
acknowledgment,  and  swinging  one  of  his  legs  over  the 
other,  and  turning  himself  on  the  chair  so  as  to  present 
his  back  to  Mr.  Talbot,  he  began  to  read,  and  was  soon 
absorbed  in  the  newspaper.  A  moment  after,  he  wheeled 
about  on  his  seat,  and  flinging  the  paper  far  away  from 
him,  cried  out: 

"Damn  that  paper !  I  don't  read  that  lying  paper,  that 
Observer.  You  keep  a  house  of  public  entertainment  here, 
don't  you?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  responded  the  Major. 

"Then  why  don't  you  take  papers  on  both  sides?  Ain't 
you  got  the  Argus  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  we  take  the  Argus,"  s.aid  the  Major,  his  eyes 
shining  like  a  copperhead's,  and  mincing  his  words,  and 
speaking  with  very  great  precision,  as  he  was  apt  to  do 
when  his  wrath  was  rising;  "the  boy  has  gone  for  the  mail, 
and  I  look  for  him  back  at  any  moment." 

Soon  the  boy  came  with  the  mail,  and  the  Major  handed 
to  the  traveler  Mr.  Amos  Kendall's  Argus  of  the  Western 
World,  then  the  leading  Jackson  paper,  and  he  was  soon 
absorbed  in  its  columns. 

Meantime,  who  should  ride  up  to  the  stile  but  the  little 
man  with  whom  the  big  traveler  had  quarreled  on  the  road ! 
He  walked  in,  passing  near  his  late  antagonist,  who,  appear 
ing  not  to  see  him,  continued  intently  reading  the  Argus, 
his  lips  moving,  as  if  spelling  his  way  through  it.  Then 
the  Major  made  the  usual  inquiries  of  the  new  guest : 


Major  Throckmorton  55 

"Will  you  have  breakfast,,  sir  ?" 

"Yes,  sir ;  if  you  please." 

"Will  you  have  your  horse  fed?" 

"Yes,  if  you  please." 

And  then  the  big  man  turned  aside  from  the  paper  and 
said: 

"Have  my  horse  fed,  too." 

A  moment  after,  breakfast  was  announced,  and  the  big 
traveler,  followed  by  the  Major,  walked  into  the  breakfast- 
room,  while  the  little  man  was  washing  his  hands.  The 
Major  was  carving  a  venison  steak,  and  the  big  man  was 
stirring  his  coffee,  when  the  little  traveler  entered  and 
took  a  seat  opposite  his  late  antagonist.  That  gentleman 
immediately  bounced  from  the  table,  and  pointing  to  the 
guest  opposite,  said : 

"I  will  not  eat  with  that  man.  I  won't  sit  at  the  table 
with  him !" 

"Why,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Major,  "what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  big  man,  "I  ordered  my  breakfast 
first,  and  I  tell  you  I  won't  eat  where  that  man  is." 

The  little  man  smiled,  and  rising,  said: 

"Major,  you  shall  have  no  trouble  on  my  account.  Let 
the  gentleman  eat;  I  will  wait." 

"No,  sir."  said  the  Major;  "keep  your  seat,  if  you 
please."  Then  turning  to  the  big  man,  he  said:  "Sir,  I 
don't  know  either  you  or  the  gentleman  to  whom  you  object, 
He  seems  to  be  a  gentleman.  Can  you  give  me  any  reason 
why  you  won't  breakfast  at  the  same  table  with  him  ?" 

"Well,  sir,  I  won't  sit  at  the  same  table  with  him,  and 
that's  enough." 

"No,  sir,  it  is  not  enough.  We  are  not  in  the  habit  of 
setting  a  separate  table  for  each  guest,  and  if  you  won't 
eat  your  breakfast  with  this  gentleman,  or  give  some  good 
reason  why  you  should  not  do  so,  you  cannot  sit  at  my  table 

at  all." 

"What,  sir !  Do  you  keep  a  public  house,  and  refuse  to 
accommodate  travelers  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  when  travelers  don't  behave  like  gentlemen 
I  refuse  to  entertain  them  at  my  house." 

The  big  traveler  was  now  moving  toward  the  door,  the 


56  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Major  following,  and  keeping  a  vigilant  eye  upon  him. 
Flouncing  out  upon  the  porch,  where  Mr.  Talbot  was  sit 
ting,  he  raised  his  voice  to  a  high  pitch,  so  that  Thornton, 
who  had  gone  in  to  see  the  Major's  family,  was  attracted 
to  the  scene.  Having  an  audience  seemed  to  excite  the 
big  man  still  more,  and  he  stormed  about  at  a  great  rate. 
The  Major  .did  not  make  any  reply  to  his  storming,  but 
walked  to  the  bell  rope,  and  sounded  the  hostler's  bell. 

"Get  this  man's  horse,"  he  said,  when  the  hostler  came; 
"that  little  Arkansas  pony." 

"I  let  you  know,"  shouted  the  big  man,  "that  I  am  not 
from  Arkansas,  and  my  horse  is  no  Arkansas  pony,  either !" 
And  then  in  a  still  louder  key  he  called  out,  "I'll  let  you 
know  that  I  am  a  gentleman !" 

The  Major  had  abstained  from  answering  his  declama 
tory  speeches,  well  knowing  how  that  inflames  the  temper, 
though  it  be  mere  vociferation,  with  little  meaning,  like 
the  bellowing  of  bulls  or  the  clamor  of  game  cocks,  but 
now  his  blood  was  rising,  and  he  answered : 

"And  I'll  let  you  know  that  I  am  a  gentleman !" 

"And  I'll  let  you  know,"  yelled  the  big  man,  "that  I 
am  Colonel  Wilson,  of  Woodville,  Mississippi !" 

"And  I'll  let  you  know/'  vociferated  the  Major,  "that  I 
am  Major  Aris  Throckmorton,  of  the  Blue  Licks !" 

"And  I'll  let  you  know,"  screamed  the  big  man,  "that 
I  run  for  the  State  Senate  in  my  deestrick  last  summer, 
and  that  I  was  beat  FOUR  VOTES  !" 

"And  I'll  let  you  know,"  shrieked  the  Major,  "that  I 
ran  for  the  State  Senate  in  this  district  last  summer,  and 
that  I  was  beat  FOUR  HUNDRED  VOTES  !" 

The  Major  enunciated  this  as  if  it  were  a  "settler,"  and 
it  seemed  to  settle  and  absolutely  to  overwhelm  Colonel 
Wilson.  He  recoiled  a  step,  and  stood  silent,  with  his 
mouth  agape,  completely  dazed.  His  condition  was  further 
aggravated  by  seeing  ill-suppressed  laughter  on  the  face 
of  Mr.  Talbot,  and  the  Major  eyeing  him  with  an  air  of 
triumph.  But  Colonel  Wilson  rallied  after  a  time,  and 
drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and  expanding  his 
chest,  threw  back  his  coat  so  as  to  exhibit  two  pistols,  which 
he  wore  in  a  belt  about  his  waist.,  and  informed  the  Major 


Major  Throckmorton  57 

and  the  audience  generally  that  he  knew  his  rights,  and 
knowing,  dared  maintain  them,  using  expletives  which  it 
would  not  be  proper  to  put  upon  this  page. 

The  moment  the  Major  saw  the  handles  of  the  pistols  he 
wheeled  about,  and  went  rapidly  toward  the  office,  where 
four  double-barreled  guns  had  been  left  by  the  late  hunt 
ing  party.  Seizing  one  of  these  he  came  forth,  with  both 
barrels  cocked,  calling  to  the  big  man  to  come  on  with  his 
pistols.  But  Colonel  Wilson  made  no  further  hostile  dem 
onstrations.  Then  the  Major  said  to  him :  "Get  on  that 
Arkansas  pony  and  leave  here !" 

The  hostler  was  now  coming  with  the  pony  (which  moved 
reluctantly),  dragging  him  along  by  the  bridle,  his  head 
and  neck  in  a  horizontal  line,  grains  of  corn  spilling  from 
his  mouth.  Colonel  Wilson  had  no  more  to  say,  but  walked 
out  to  his  horse,  and  mounting  him,  rode  slowly  away. 

Everybody  felt  a  sense  of  relief  when  he  was  gone.  Two 
negro  men  in  the  yard,  and  Sam  the  hostler,  who  had 
brought  out  the  pony,  went  away  holding  their  faces  and 
shaking  with  suppressed  laughter,  until  they  got  into  the 
stable  lot,  where  they  were  heard  yah-yahing  and  jabbering 
at  a  great  rate,  celebrating  the  master's  victory. 

Thornton  took  the  gun  from  the  Major's  hand,  and  open 
ing  one  of  the  pans,  found  no  priming  there;  and  trying 
the  other,  found  that  also  empty ;  and  sounding  the  barrels 
with  a  stick,  discovered  that  the  gun  was  not  loaded. 


CHAPTEE  VI 

DIFFICULTIES 
"This  is  the  fool  that  lent  out  money  gratis." 

THORNTON  failed  to  induce  Major  Throckmorton  to  take 
charge  of  his  tavern,  and  returned  to  The  Falls  to  find  the 
sheriff  with  writs  of  execution  in  his  hands  against  him  for 
large  sums,  more  than  he  deemed  he  owed ;  for,  like  many 
men  sanguine  and  loose  in  the  management  of  their 
finances,  he  had  not  kept  an  accurate  list  of  his  debts,  dread 
ing  at  last  to  look  the  sum  total  in  the  face.  His  first 
inclination  was  to  interpose  whatever  means  of  delay  the 
law  permitted,  in  the  hope  of  better  times,  but  on  reflection 
he  resolved  to  let  everything  go,  and  be  free  from  the  an 
noyance  of  debt.  Accordingly,  all  his  property  except  his 
slaves  was  sold,  and  his  debts  satisfied,  Mclntyre,  for  Dick 
Thornton,  buying  his  interest  in  Lastlands,  and  an  interest 
in  an  iron  foundry.  The  first  effect  was  great  mortifica 
tion  and  distress  of  mind,  but  his  hopeful  temper  soon 
rallied,  and  the  sense  of  freedom,  inspired  by  relief  from 
the  burden  of  debt,  filled  him  with  positive  happiness. 

But  there  was  yet  in  store  for  him  further  tribulation. 
Three  years  before  this,  just  as  he  was  about  to  set  out 
for  Virginia,  whither  he  went  to  collect  some  money  be 
longing  to  his  wife,  a  claim  had  been  sent  from  Philadel 
phia  for  carpeting  and  other  furniture  for  his  tavern,  with 
instructions  to  sue  if  not  immediately  paid.  A  writ  was 
served  upon  Thornton,  and  when  he  returned  an  execution 
was  in  the  hands  of  a  deputy  sheriff.  This  he  satisfied 
at  once,  taking  the  deputy's  receipt.  Soon  after  this  the 
deputy  died  without,  as  it  appears,  having  made  any  return 
on  the  execution;  and  now,  after  the  Lapse  of  three  years, 


Difficulties  59 

the  writ  was  renewed,  and  to  satisfy  it  the  sheriff  offered  to 
make  a  levy  upon  Thornton's  slaves,  now  the  only  property 
that  remained  to  him.  Ould  at  once  took  charge  of  the 
case,  and,  finding  no  return  of  the  execution  on  the  books, 
and  Thornton  not  being  able  to  find  his  receipt,  the  mat 
ter  gave  them  great  uneasiness.  Having  searched  dili 
gently,  turning  over  all  his  papers  more  than  once,  and 
taking  up  all  his  bank  checks,  which  he  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  making  receipts,  and  not  finding  this  receipt,  the 
sheriff  meantime  waiting  with  what  seemed  not  only  rea 
sonable  but  considerate  forbearance,  that  officer  levied  on 
the  slaves,  and  they  stood  technically  in  his  possession. 
This  occurred  at  a  time  when  it  chanced  that  all  Thorn 
ton's  confidential  friends  were  away.  John  Digby  was 
absent  on  business  somewhere  down  the  Mississippi  Eiver, 
Captain  Shelby  and  Joe  Sterrett  were  away  on  a  hunting 
expedition  down  in  the  New  Madrid  region,  Mclntyre  was 
at  Nashville,  and  Dick  Thornton  at  New  Orleans,  whither 
he  had  gone  suddenly ;  all  except  Joe  Sterrett  and  Colonel 
Shelby  drawn  away  by  the  stress  of  the  financial  crisis. 
Onld  was  at  home,  but  not  being  possessed  of  any  real 
estate  he  was  incompetent  as  a  surety  on  the  required 
bond.  The  sheriff  still  used  forbearance,  agreeing  to  await 
the  close  of  the  day  before  taking  the  slaves,  already  tech 
nically  in  his  possession,  to  the  jail  for  safe-keeping. 

Thornton  thought  it  would  be  easy  to  find  someone  whom 
he  might  with  propriety  ask  to  become  his  bondsman,  there 
being  no  likelihood  that  the  slaves  would  run  away,  and 
therefore  little  or  no  risk,  and  he  set  out  to  find  such  a 
person.  He  had  tried  several  conventional  friends,  men 
for  whom  he  would  at  any  time  have  been  glad  to  render 
a  like  service,  but  they  had  all  refused,  pleading  their  own 
embarrassed  condition.  Then  he  met  one  other,  notoriously 
free  from  .all  money  complications,  and  always  free  in 
expression  of  friendship  for  him,  but  he  also  refused,  lest, 
as  he  said,  if  he  should  not  lose  anything  he  might  yet  be 
"annoyed"  by  the  future  proceedings  on  the  bond.  Then 
Thornton  resolved  to  ask  no  further.  But  chancing  to 
meet  a  young  lawyer  whom  in  many  ways  he  had  obliged 
in  the  past,  when  he  was  needy,  and  who  having  married  a 


60  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

young  woman  with  some  fortune  was  now  considered  a 
solid  man,  he  determined  to  solicit  him.  He  felt  less  hesi 
tation  in  making  this  request  because,  besides  many  social 
favors,  he  had  obliged  this  young  lawyer  more  than  once 
with  loans  of  money,  in  one  instance  to  the  extent  of  sev 
eral  hundred  dollars.  Accordingly,  after  having  explained 
his  condition,  he  asked  this  gentleman  if  he  would  be  will 
ing  to  become  his  bondsman.  "Certainly  I  will,"  he 
answered,  to  Thornton's  gratification  and  relief.  Nothing 
could  have  been  finer  than  the  cordiality  with  which  he 
expressed  himself  as  they  walked  over  to  the  clerk's  office 
to  make  the  bond.  But  finding  the  clerk  away  from  the 
office,  at  dinner,  and  there  being  no  other  person  there 
competent  to  take  the  bond,  they  went  away,  having  agreed 
to  meet  again  at  an  hour  named.,  when  the  clerk  should 
have  returned.  Thornton  was  promptly  at  the  office,  but 
found  not  his  promised  bondsman,  but  only  a  note  from 
him  stating  that  he  was  unexpectedly  called  away  by  busi 
ness  out  of  town,  and  would  not  be  able  to  comply  with 
his  promise;  treating  the  matter  lightly  by  saying  that 
doubtless  Thornton  would  easily  find  another  bondsman. 
It  was  a  plain  evasion  suggested  by  sober  second  thought, 
as  Thornton  believed,  and  he  then  resolved  to  make  no 
further  solicitation.  He  went  immediately  to  see  his  slaves 
at  home,  explained  to  them  their  situation,  that  they  were 
to  be  taken  into  custody  by  the  sheriff,  and  confined  until 
the  return  of  Mr.  Mclntyre,  who  was  now  expected  at  any 
time,  and  exhorted  them  to  bear  this  painful  trial  with 
patience. 

At  the  close  of  the  day  the  sheriff  went  to  Thornton's 
house,  where,  except  two  old  crones,  superannuated  cooks 
of  his  father  and  grandfather,  he  took  into  possession  all 
the  slaves,  to  be  placed  for  safe-keeping  in  the  jail.  As 
they  went  along,  a  melancholy  band,  men,  women  and  chil 
dren,  there  were  many  people  on  the  street.  The  sad  faces 
of  the  slaves,  due  as  much  to  sympathy  with  their  dis 
tressed  master  as  to  their  own  uncertain  fate,  excited  the 
sympathy  t>f  most  of  the  throng  of  spectators.  Yet— 
meekly  as  Thornton  had  borne  the  factitious  honors  that 
wealth  lind  high  sQcial  position  had  brought  him,  and 


Difficulties  61 

generously  as  in  the  past  he  had  succored  others  afflicted  in 
mind,  body,  or  estate — there  were  now  some  who  secretly 
rejoiced  at  his  fate,  and  others  ready  even  to  taunt  him 
with  his  misfortunes  !  Alas  for  human  nature !  Can  it  he 
true,  what  the  French  philosopher  says,  "There  is  in  the 
misfortunes  of  our  best  friends  always  something  that 
gives  us  pleasure"?  And  is  there  a  natural  hatred  of  the 
poor  for  the  rich  ?  However  this  may  be,  there  were  in  the 
throng  that  witnessed  this  sad  procession  some  who  ex 
pressed  this  unworthy  feeling,  almost  in  the  very  words 
of  Slater's  psalm,  uttered  in  the  nasal  tone  that  best  befits 
them: 

"The  righteous  shall  his  sorrow  scan, 

And  laugh  at  him,  and  say,  'Behold 
What  hath  become  of  this  here  man 

That  on  his  riches  was  so  bold.' " 

But  as  the  procession  moved  away  most  of  the  people  looked 
after  with  sorrowful  faces,  while  some  were  full  of  indig 
nation,  and  there  were  not  wanting  imprecations  upon  the 
remorseless  enginery  of  the  law. 

There  was  now  no  hope  of  relief  until  Mclntyre  should 
return.  As  to  the  ultimate  result  of  the  controversy — 
whether  Thornton  should  be  compelled  to  pay  a  second  time 
an  execution  already  once  satisfied — all  hung  upon  the 
proverbial  uncertainty  of  the  law.  The  question  was  mooted 
among  the  lawyers  and  among  laymen  alike,  and  Thorn 
ton's  spotless  character  was  now  a  tower  of  strength.  Com 
promise  had  been  suggested  by  the  lawyer  on  the  plaintiff's 
side,  which  he  had  rejected  with  scorn.  Ould  breathed 
only  indignation  and  defiance.  With  the  details  of  the 
legal  controversy  which  was  soon  afoot  in  the  courts  the 
reader  shall  not  be  troubled.  The  lost  receipt  Thornton 
had  now  come  to  think  must  have  been  carried  off  by  some 
thieves  who,  in  a  time  of  flood,  had  robbed  Digby's  ware 
house,  and,  besides  the  plunder  belonging  there,  had  carried 
off  a  tin  box  of  Thornton's  containing  only  deeds  and  other 
papers,  but  having  a  lock  suggesting  contents  of  value.  He 
had  no  remembrance  of  having  put  the  receipt  into  this 
box,  though  he  paid  the  execution  at  Digby's  office  and 
took  the  deputy's  receipt  there.  Yet,  as  he  said,  he  had 


62  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

never  before  lost  a  paper,  though  he  had  often  misplaced 
them ;  he  was  now  confident  that  it  had  been  put  into  this 
box.  After  a  visit  to  his  slaves  at  the  jail,  where  he  found 
them  in  better  spirits  than  he  expected,  owing  altogether 
to  the  cheerful  talk  of  a  leader  among  them,  Charles  Fet 
ter,  he  went  home,  in  better  spirits,  to  console  his  afflicted 
household. 

Next  day  at  an  early  hour  he  was  again  at  the  jail,  and 
afterward  went  down  to  Digby's  warehouse,  where,  going 
into  the  former  office  of  Dick  Thornton,  he  lay  down  upon 
a  lounge  to  ruminate  upon  his  troubles  in  solitude.  After 
the  lapse  of  an  hour  or  more  he  heard  old  Mr.  Anderson, 
Digby's  cashier,  come  up  and  take  his  accustomed  seat  by 
the  great  door,  that  looked  out  upon  the  river.  Soon  after 
came  another  person,  who  began  at  once  to  talk  of  Thorn 
ton's  misfortunes,  and  told  Mr.  Anderson  that  some  negro 
traders  had  gone  in  company  with  McCrae,  the  sheriff,  to 
the  jail  to  inspect  Thornton's  slaves,  and  for  this  purpose 
had  separated  and  privily  examined  them,  men  and  women, 
stripping  them  as  was  usual  with  slaves  that  were  to  be  put 
upon  the  block  for  public  sale;  that  he,  the  informant, 
had  gone  to  the  office  of  Ould  to  apprise  him  of  this,  but 
not  finding  him,  had  come  down  to  let  Mr.  Anderson  know, 
etc.  And  then  this  bearer  of  evil  tidings  went  quickly 
away.  Thornton  arose  at  once  to  follow  him,  but  being 
a  little  delayed  putting  on  a  part  of  his  apparel,  when  he 
got  upon  the  street  the  man  was  out  of  sight.  He  then 
went  at  once  to  the  office  of  Ould,  and  not  finding  him 
there,  went  to  the  jail  to  inquire  of  the  truth  of  what  he 
had  heard.  The  jailer  was  away,  but  his  deputy  told 
Thornton  that  he  understood  that  McCrae  had  visited  the 
jail  with  two  negro  traders,  and  had  examined  privily  some 
slaves,  but  what  slaves  he  did  not  know.  Then  Thornton, 
impatient  to  know  the  truth,  resolved  to  go  at  once  to  the 
office  of  the  sheriff,  to  confront  McCrae  and  catechise  him 
as  to  the  facts. 

McCrae  had  come  to  The  Falls  at  an  early  day.  He 
came  in  humble  guise,  representing  himself  as  a  man  that 
had  lost  his  fortune,  and  was  seeking  in  the  new  country 
some  means  of  livelihood.  He  was  familiar  with  the  pro- 


Difficulties  63 

ceedings  of  courts  of  law,  and  soon,  through  the  influence 
of  some  of  the  board  of  magistrates,  was  made  a  constable. 
When  Eobert  Thornton  saw  him,  he  recognized  him  as  a 
defaulter  in  Virginia  for  a  large  sum  of  money,  which 
he  was  believed  to  have  still  in  possession.  His  offense  was 
not  then  technically  a  crime,  and  as  he  kept  his  money 
concealed,  his  creditors  had  no  remedy.  Informed  of  his 
whereabouts,  they  had  instituted  suits  at  law  against  him, 
but  were  baffled  by  his  ingenuity.  Afterward  they  em 
ployed  Quid,  who,  by  diligent  and  persistent  efforts,  quietly 
made,  got  such  knowledge  of  his  affairs  as  enabled  him  to 
force  a  settlement  satisfactory  to  the  creditors.  This  was 
effected  without  further  proceedings  at  law,  in  a  private 
conference,  in  which  Ould  convinced  him  that  further  re 
sistance  was  vain,  and  would  only  be  attended  by  public 
disgrace.  Meantime,  by  the  use  of  the  money  in  usury 
and  negro  deaMng,  he  had  made  vast  profits.  He  had  also 
for  many  years  farmed  the  sheriffalty,  though  always  in 
the  name  of  another,  taking  himself  the  place  of  a  deputy, 
and  though  called  sheriff,  this  was  his  posture  now.  Hav 
ing,  as  he  thought,  condoned  his  offense,  he  now  aspired 
to  consideration  in  the  community,  and  as  money,  of  which 
he  now  made  ostentatious  display,  smooths  all  paths,  he 
had  in  a  considerable  degree  attained  this.  Finding  him 
self,  on  one  occasion  when  he  approached  Thornton,  treated 
with  contempt  by  that  gentleman,  and  anxious  to  conciliate 
a  man  of  such  social  influence,  he  had  sent  a  gentleman 
favorably  known  to  Thornton  to  deprecate  his  hostility. 
This  gentleman  had  earnestly  deplored  Thornton's  ani 
mosity,  representing  McCrea  as  an  active,  Influential  and 
wealthy  member  of  the  community.  To  all  of  which 
Thornton  had  replied  with  two  lines  from  Pope : 

"A  knave's  a  knave  to  me,  whate'er  his  state, 
Alike  my  scorn  if  he  succeed  or  fail." 

Thenceforth  McCrae  hated  him  as  Haman  hated  Mordecai 
sitting  at  the  king's  gate. 

McCrae  was  reputed  to  be  a  man  of  courage;  not  aggres 
sive,  and  careful  to  keep  the  law  on  his  side,  but  one  that 
would  strike;  and  in  some  contests,  into  which  he  had  been 


64  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

drawn  in  the  course  of  his  official  duty,  was  said  to  have 
behaved  with  much  spirit.  He  believed  that  misfortune 
would  break  the  spirit  of  any  man,  and  when  he  saw  from 
the  window  Thornton  approaching  his  office,  he  made  sure 
that  his  fortitude  had  given  way,  and  that  he  was  coming 
to  ask  some  concession  or  favor  at  his  hands.  But  struck 
by  Thornton's  face  as  he  entered  the  office  door,  he  quickly 
drew  to  himself  a  heavy  lignum  vitse  ruler,  and  took  in 
hand  his  penknife  that  lay  open  on  the  table.  Further, 
this  chronicler  can  give  no  clear  relation  of  an  encounter 
which  quickly  followed  between  them,  except  that  McCrae 
was  knocked  down  by  a  blow  from  Thornton's  fist,  falling 
against  the  wall  and  carrying  down  with  him  a  large  United 
States  map  that  hung  there ;  that  Ould  then  came  hurriedly 
into  the  room,  and  seeing  McCrae's  deputy  take  a  pistol 
from  the  drawer  of  a  desk,  sprang  upon  him  and  wrested 
the  weapon  from  his  hand;  that  McCrae,  rising  from  the 
floor,  did  not  look  to  Thornton,  but  seeing  Ould  with  the 
pistol  in  hand,  asked  if  he  had  come  to  aid  an  attempt 
to  assassinate  him,  for  the  discharge  of  his  duty ;  that  Ould 
answered  that  the  pistol  was  McCrae's  own,  and  had  been 
taken  from  the  hands  of  his  deputy,  and  then  opening  the 
pan  and  emptying  it  of  priming,  and  casting  the  pistol 
contemptuously  upon  the  floor,  laid  his  hand  on  Thornton's 
arm  and  led  him  from  the  room. 

This  affair  became  at  once  a  subject  of  talk  for  the 
whole  town,  and  many  different  versions  of  it  were  spread 
abroad.  To  the  office  of  Ould,  whither  Thornton  and  he 
had  gone,  came  many  acquaintances  to  inquire  about  it, 
each  bringing  a  different  version,  but  all  agreeing  that 
McCrae  and  his  deputy  were  industriously  giving  out  their 
own  version,  to  Thornton's  discredit — that  he  had  suddenly 
and  unexpectedly  assaulted  McCrae,  for  no  other  cause 
than  the  discharge  of  an  official  duty.  This  greatly  an 
noyed  Thornton,  and  made  him  bitterly  repent  having 
acted  with  such  precipitation.  He  went  at  once  in  search 
of  the  person  who  had  related  to  Mr.  Anderson  the  trans 
action  at  the  jail,  and  finding  him,  learned  that  he  had 
heard  the  story  from  another,  and  this  other  from  still 
another,  and  so  on  ad  infinitum. 


Difficulties  65 

"Hiram  McQuilly  told  my  uncle  Billy 
That  old  Mr.  Patton  had  said 

That  Jimmy  McFadden  told  Billy  McHaddeu " 

> 

Hopeless  of  finding  a  responsible  voucher  for  the  story, 
Thornton  went  back  to  Quid's  office  oppressed  by  the  ap 
prehension  that  he  had  acted  upon  no  better  ground  than 
a  popular  rumor,  and  that  he  was  now  under  an  obligation 
to  make  amends  to  a  man  whom  he  despised.  "He  shall 
have  the  customary  satisfaction,  if  he  desires  that,"  he 
said. 

"Bah!"  exclaimed  Ould,  "he  will  never  dream  of  that. 
He  has  always  been  ready  enough  with  his  fists,  for  he  ia 
a  big-boned,  powerful  fellow,  but  he  has  no  stomach  for  a 
deadly  fight.  I  know  him.  I  found  him  out  while  I  was 
after  him  for  the  money  he  embezzled  in  Virginia.  He  is 
a  craven  at  bottom." 

"Still,"  said  Thornton,  "I  must  make  him  amends." 
"Well,  don't  be  in  a  hurry  about  it.  We  don't  know 
yet  how  far  he  deserved  all  he  got.  I  know  that  he  has  been 
in  league  with  these  negro  traders,  and  long  a  partner  in 
their  transactions.  Tom  Long  will  be  here  after  a  while, 
and  we  shall  then  know  how  much  truth  there  was  in  what 
you  heard  at  the  warehouse.  Then  you  can  act  advisedly." 
And  soon  Tom  Long  came,  and  reported  the  facts  to  be 
as  follows :  McCrae  went  to  the  jail  with  the  negro  trad 
ers.  The  negro  traders  asked  to  be  shown  Thornton's 
slaves.  This  the  jailer  refused,  saying  that  they  were  there 
for  safe-keeping  only,  and  that  their  privacy  should  not 
be  disturbed  except  by  order  of  their  master.  McCrae 
said  nothing  pro  or  con.  Then  the  negro  traders  asked  to 
be  shown  other  slaves  confined  there  and  advertised  for 
sale,  and  accompanied  by  McCrae  they  Had  privately  exam 
ined  these  slaves,  for  that  purpose  separating  them,  and 
that  this  was  a  common  practice  there  with  slaves  in  their 
circumstances.  •  Hearing  this  statement,  Thornton  said  at 
once:  "I  have  nothing  except  on  my  own  account  to  re 
gret.  By  going  with  these  men  to  the  jail,  and  saying 
nothing  when  they  asked  to  be  shown  my  slaves,  he  gave 
countenance  to  this  request,  instead  of  interposing  for  their 
protection,  as  it  was  his  duty  to  do.  But  for  the  manly 


66  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

conduct  of  the  old  jailer  they  also  might  have  been  turned 
over  for  inspection.  I  am  going  to  let  the  matter  stand 
as  it  is."  To  this  Ould  and  Tom  Long  nodded  emphatic 
approval.  Then  Thornton  broke  out  in  denunciation  of 
the  negro  traders,  and  of  the  practice  of  permitting  them 
to  examine  privily  men  and  women,  for  this  purpose  strip 
ping  them  to  the  skin.  To  which  Ould  replied,  that  he 
ought  rather  to  denounce  the  system  that  made  such  things 
possible  and  even  proper;  for  so  long  as  men  and  women 
were  bought  and  sold  as  merchandise,  it  would  be  wrong 
to  deny  the  buyer  the  means  of  knowing  if  the  commodity 
offered  were  sound  and  merchantable.  Then  Thornton, 
unable  to  deny  so  reasonable  a  proposition,  denounced  in 
turn  the  system  of  slavery,  expressing  the  hope  that  soon 
some  solution  might  be  found  for  this  perplexing  problem. 
To  which  Ould  heartily  agreed. 

This  sentiment  was  then  common  in  Kentucky.  The 
policy  and  the  duty  of  emancipation  were  then  freely  and 
openly  discussed  before  large  popular  assemblies.  Mr.  Clay 
was  its  open  declared  advocate.  And  Mr.  Bascom,  the  most 
eloquent  divine  of  his  day,  drew  immense  audiences  when 
he  spoke,  as  he  often  did,  on  this  theme.  It  was  but  a 
few  years  after  this  that  Mr.  Clay,  while  addressing  a 
popular  assembly  in  Indiana,  was  handed  from  the  audi 
ence  a  paper  that  proved  to  be  a  petition  to  him  to  eman 
cipate  his  slave  Charles,  then  in  attendance  upon  him.  Mr. 
Clay  read  aloud  the  petition,  and  said :  "Gentlemen,  here 
is  Charles,  at  your  service.  Take  him  aside  and  talk  with 
him.  If  he  shall  concur  in  this  petition  I  will  cheerfully 
grant  what  you  ask,  on  the  spot."  Then  turning  about  to 
Charles,  he  said:  "Charles,  go  with  these  gentlemen"; 
resuming  his  speech,  while  Charles  went  aside  with  the 
petitioners.  The  conference  had  no  practical  result. 
Charles  told  them  that  he  knew  he  might  be  free  at  any 
time  if  he  so  desired,  but  that  he  did  not  wish  to  change 
his  relation  to  Mr.  Clay ;  that  he  found  great  happiness  in 
serving  him;  answering  their  arguments  and  suggestions 
with  a  stately  politeness  and  a  manner  not  unlike  that  of 
the  great  man  himself.  This  filled  the  petitioners  with 
disgust  and  indignation,  to  which  they  gave  expression 


Difficulties  67 

in  terms  like  those  of  Mr.  Canning's  Radical  in  his  colloquy 
with  the  "needy  knife-grinder." 

Emancipation  was  at  this  time  freely  and  openly  dis 
cussed,  not  only  by  popular  orators,  but  was  canvassed 
everywhere.  At  every  family  hearth  it  was  a  subject  for 
anxious  consideration  and  discussion.  The  popular  heart 
and  the  public  conscience  had  been  deeply  touched.  Most 
of  the  leading  minds  in  the  State  agreed  that  slavery  in 
Kentucky  was  in  a  fair  way  of  extinction.  It  is  not  to 
be  denied  that  the  depression  in  all  branches  of  industry, 
especially  in  agriculture,  in  which  slaves  were  chiefly  em 
ployed,  and  their  consequent  decline  in  value,  had  much 
to  do  with  this.  The  same  cause  had  brought  about  eman 
cipation  in  other  States  where  slavery  had  prevailed,  and 
not  even  a  Kentuckian  will  claim  for  his  people  immunity 
from  the  dominating  power  of  self-interest.  It  is  enough 
to  know,  that  only  some  feasible  plan  of  emancipation  was 
then  wanting,  and  this  becoming  known  to  the  Abolition 
ists,  was  a  signal  for  those  agitators  to  renew  and  embitter 
their  attacks.  They  rose  in  their  demands.  They  would  not 
listen  to  any  scheme  of  gradual  emancipation.  In  a  dic 
tatorial  tone  they  demanded  immediate  emancipation.  Then 
Kentucky  began  to  draw  back.  Her  people  were  not  used  to 
doing  anything  on  compulsion.  Many  that  were  most  zeal 
ous  for  emancipation  resented  this  rude  interference.  Then 
the  law  of  1833  which  forbade  the  further  bringing  of 
slaves  into  Kentucky,  except  in  the  case  of  the  owner  com 
ing  there  to  abide,  was  repealed,  and  thereafter  the  parties 
were  arrayed  in  hostile  lines,  the  fight  went  on  all  along 
the  lines,  and  Kentucky  was  permanently  fixed  within  the 
slave  border. 

"Why  introduce  this  subject  here  ?"  Only  to  give  the 
reader  a  complete  view  of  the  times  this  chronicler  aims 
to  depict.  He  cherishes  no  spark  of  the  resentments  of 
the  past — not  even  against  the  Abolitionists.  Nay,  he 
can  now  regard  these  as  having  been  friends  in  disguise. 
Slavery  in  the  Great  Republic  has  been  extinguished  for 
ever.  Kentucky,  in  common  with  the  whole  South,  thanks 
God  for  this  consummation,  though  reached  through  a  sea 
of  blood  and  tears. 


68  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

As  for  the  slaves,  they  are  back  in  friendly  relations 
with  their  former  masters,  who  can  never  forget  their 
fidelity  in  the  war.  They  are  fortunate  in  not  having  to 
deal  with  strangers,  who  would  never  have  understood 
them,  nor  have  been  tolerant  of  their  ways.  For  this  chron 
icler's  own  part,  his  old  cook  is  in  his  kitchen,  and  all  her 
children  that  are  living  serve  him  for  wages ;  all  the  better 
for  having  been  taught  in  the  public  schools;  all  happier 
in  this  new  relation,  they  for  the  sense  of  freedom,  and  he 
for  relief  given  his  conscience. 

"Would  he  stand  by  them  now  as  in  the  days  of  slavery  ?" 
Oh,  don't  talk ! — you  that  know  nothing  of  the  old  relation 
of  master  and  slave.  "Woo't  fight? — Woo't  drink  up 
eisel  ?" 

"Better  not  stir  this  exciting  topic  again  ?"  That  recalls 
an  incident.  After  the  war  the  Kentucky  soldiers  came 
home,  and  Federals  and  Confederates,  except  some  malig- 
nants — politicians — clasped  hands,  and  all  was  peace  and 
amity.  In  the  midst  of  this  good  feeling  one  man  de 
manded  of  another  two  dollars  and  a  half  due  him,  and 
was  answered:  "Great  Scott!  What  kind  of  a  man  are 
you,  to  come,  while  we  are  all  harmonizing  and  trying  to 
homologate,  stirring  up  strife  by  dunning  me  for  two  dol 
lars  and  a  half !" 

We  don't  want  to  stir  up  strife,  but  we  do  want  what 
is  due  us — justice.  We  don't  want  to  go  down  to  posterity 
in  your  innumerable  books  as  man-eaters;  and  we  won't, 
if  truth  be  indeed  omnipotent  and  public  justice  certain. 
There ! 

You  an  old  Abolitionist?  Shake?  Certainly— with  all 
my  heart.  Shake! 

And  now  to  our  chronicle.  Next  day  Mclntyre  came 
home,  and  bond  was  given  for  the  forthcoming  of  Thorn 
ton's  slaves,  and  they  were  released,  and  went  home. 


CHAPTEE  VII 

THE  REMOVAL  TO  LASTLANDS 

"She  maketh  fine  linen  and  selleth  it,  and  delivereth  girdles 
to  the  merchants.  She  looketh  well  to  the  ways  of  her  house 
hold  and  eateth  not  the  bread  of  idleness." 

IN  THE  first  hours  of  depression  following  Thornton's 
misfortune  he  had  thought  of  going  away  from  The  Falls 
into  some  new  field,  to  begin  there  a  new  career  among 
strangers,  to  advertise  himself  as  architect  and  technolo 
gist,  and  make  his  living  by  professional  work.  But  this 
his  friends  combated,  insisting  that  for  such  work  the 
new  country  afforded  no  sufficient  field,  urging  him  to  go 
with  his  slaves  to  Lastlands,  and  there  engage  in  the  work 
for  which  his  training  abroad  had  best  fitted  him.  His 
sister  Digby  and  her  husband  offered  to  give  him  all  their 
interest  in  Lastlands,  and  Mclntyre  informed  him  that 
Dick  Thornton,  expecting  him  to  take  this  course,  had 
authorized  him  to  offer  the  free  use  of  his  interest  there, 
and  further  to  furnish  whatever  money  might  be  required 
to  put  the  house  and  plantation  in  complete  order.  But 
swayed  by  his  love  of  independence,  made  morbid  by  mis 
fortune,  Thornton  declined  to  accept  these  generous  offers. 
Yet,  being  now  bound  by  the  proceedings  at  law  which  had 
laid  hands  on  his  slaves,  and  obliged  to  stand  by  these 
faithful  dependents,  as  well  on  his  own  account  as  theirs, 
and  having  received  a  letter  from  his  brother  Dick  at  New 
Orleans,  announcing  his  contemplated  departure  for  Eng 
land,  and  urging  him  to  go  to  the  country,  he  resolved, 
for  a  time,  at  least,  to  betake  himself  with  his  slaves  to 
Lastlands.  Somewhere  he  longed  to  go  at  once,  away  from 
the  community  by  which,  in  his  morbid  humor,  he  thought 
he  had  been  ill-used. 

69 


70  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

The  fall  from  high  estate  or  the  simple  decline  from 
wealth  to  poverty  is  not  always  distressing.  To  those  who 
have  never  possessed  either  wealth  or  high  estate  it  seems 
a  grievous  thing.  But  to  those  who  have  possessed  both, 
who  know  that  neither  wealth  nor  high  station  can  of 
themselves  bring  happiness,  that  this  is  not  a  purchasable 
commodity,  nor  dependent  upon  social  position,  that  it 
cannot  come  at  all  from  without,  but  springs  only  in  the 
heart,  and,  diffusing  itself  outwardly,  "doth  make  the  meat 
it  feeds  on" — to  these  this  decline  often  gives  positive  re 
lief.  Some  pain  Thornton  felt  from  a  change  observed 
in  the  manner  of  people  he  met.  His  intimate  friends 
were  not  altered.  They  had  never  congratulated  him  upon 
his  accession  to  wealth,  and  they  did  not  now  pull  a  long 
face  over  his  loss,  these  things  having  no  relation  to  their 
friendship.  To  them,  rich  or  poor,  he  was  the  same  "Bob 
Thornton/'  He  did  not  care  for  the  coldness  he  met  from 
many.  But  he  was  sorely  annoyed  by  those  conventional 
friends  who  saluted  the  broken  gentleman  with  such  sol 
emn  and  uncommon  courtesy  as  advertised  at  once  his 
misfortunes  and  their  own  under-breeding.  It  was  a  posi 
tive  pleasure  to  meet  such  as  treated  him  just  as  before. 

In  the  first  flush  of  indignation  at  the  rebuffs  he  had 
met  while  seeking  a  bondsman  for  the  relief  of  his  slaves, 
he  had  felt  the  bitterness  of  misanthropy  in  his  heart,  and 
had  made  harsh  speeches  against  mankind ;  and  these  being 
by  some  conventional  friends,  advertising  their  shallow 
sympathy,  reported  to  Ould,  that  gentleman  said:  "This 
will  do  him  no  harm.  These  bitter  feelings  are  natural, 
and  they  are  wholesome.  They  are  moral  tonics  that  brace 
up  the  soul.  This  experience  of  the  world  will  do  him 
good.  There  is  no  danger  about  the  future  of  any  of  these 
Thorntons.  They  have  indomitable  pluck  and  a  noble 
pride.  They  are  of  the  true  Antsean  breed,  half  celestial, 
half  terrestrial.  When  in  full  feather  they  are  apt  to  soar 
toward  the  empyrean  and  beat  their  wings  to  tatters  in 
the  thin  ether  there,  and  fall  back  to  the  ground.  But 
when  they  touch  their  mother  earth  they  are  invincible. 
I  know  their  history  through  many  generations.  Their  ca 
reer  is  not  unlike"  that  of  their  mansions  in  the  town, 


The  Removal  to  Lastlands  71 

which,  elbowed  by  trade  in  its  encroachments,  and  aban 
doned  for  other  quarters,  fall  into  a  purgatorial  state. 
First,  recommended  by  their  spaciousness  and  an  odor  of 
gentility,  these  become  best-class  boarding-houses,  thence 
they  lapse  into  second,  thence  into  third-class,  thence  into 
demolition;  and  then,  after  temporary  obscuration,  from 
behind  a  veil  of  scaffolding  and  the  fumes  of  lime  and 
dust  and  mortar,  they  come  forth  massive  temples  of  Mam 
mon  or  splendid  palaces  of  trade.  Don't  waste  your 
sympathy  on  the  Thorntons.  They  are  bound  to  rise  some 
how,  and  they  will  do  it  without  asking  mortal  man  to 
give  them  help." 

Before  this  financial  crash  Thornton  had  been  a  happy 
man.  Even  the  loss  of  his  property  had  not  brought  un- 
happiness.  He  could  say: 

"Let  lands  and  houses  have  what  lords  they  will, 
Let  us  be  fixed  and  our  own  masters  still." 

Only  the  seizure  of  his  slaves  had  given  him  positive  pain. 
Impulsive  and  sensitive,  he  had  enjoyed  all  the  innocent 
pleasures  of  life  unalloyed  by  vice,  and,  as  yet,  without 
satiety.  He  had  felt  in  an  uncommon  degree  that  highest 
of  all  earthly  pleasures :  the  sense  of  having  done  good  to 
his  fellow-man.  He  had  never  before  felt  the  need  of 
help  from  others,  and  as  all  men  are  ready  to  offer  service 
to  those  who  do  not  need  it,  he  had  seen  nothing  of  the 
true  face  of  the  world.  He  had  seen  it  only  masked 
and  dressed  as  for  a  carnival.  He  did  not  know  that  to 
every  individual  man  it  is  a  foe,  biding  its  time: 

"A  foe  close  veiled  in  soft  deceit, 
Smiling,  and  smooth,  and  bland; 
A  foe  that  steals  our  inmost  heart 
With  warm  and  kind  embrace, 
Till  suddenly  the  maskings  part 
And  show  the  foul,  fierce  face." 

Thornton's  wife  had  seemed  as  happy  as  he,  but  this 
was  only  seeming ;  for  she  was  childless,  and  what  wife  was 
ever  happy  without  children?  In  all  history  or  story  is 
there  anything  more  piteous  than  that  brief  scene  described 


72  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

by  Pepys,  of  the  childless  queen  of  Charles  the  Second 
in  delirium  during  her  last  illness  ?  "This  morning  about 
five  o'clock  the  physician,  feeling  her  pulse,  thinking  to 
be  better  able  to  judge,  she  being  asleep,  waked  her,  and 
the  first  word  she  said  was,  'How  do  the  children?' "  Poor 
Queen !  She  had  found  in  delirium  what  she  most  craved, 
as  the  fevered  sleeper  finds  in  dreams  the  cold  fountains. 
Some  noble  women  find  solace  in  the  care  of  the  children 
of  others.  The  wife  of  Thornton  found  much  of  this  in 
the  young  orphan  girl,  Barbara  Peyton,  who  was  all-suffi 
cient  to  the  husband.  But  nothing  save  offspring  of  her 
own  could  fill  the  void  in  the  heart  of  the  wife.  Many 
mothers  of  her  age,  with  bevies  of  children  tugging  at  their 
apron-strings,  envied  the  careless  lot  of  the  gay  Mrs.  Thorn 
ton.  They  did  not  know  that  this  gay  life  was  but  a  vain 
device  to  elude  the  one  black  care  which  sat  at  her  board, 
and  waited  on  her  everywhere,  and  wrung  from  her  again 
and  again  the  heart-breaking  cry  of  Rachel,  "Give  me 
children  or  else  I  die!"  But  we  must  not  linger  on  this 
delicate  sorrow. 

Thornton  soon  went  out  to  Lastlands,  to  ascertain  what 
would  be  needed  to  make  it  a  comfortable  home  for  his 
household.  Since  the  death  of  Reginald  Thornton  the 
place  had  been  left  in  charge  of  some  slaves  of  Dick  Thorn 
ton.  Most  of  the  older  slave*  of  his  father  had,  at  his 
choice,  been  assigned  to  him,  and,  at  his  request,  left  at 
Lastlands  to  make  such  crops  as  might  be  necessary  for 
their  own  support,  with  instructions  to  bring  the  surplus 
to  town  for  market  and  for  the  supply  of  the  families  of 
Digby  and  Robert  Thornton.  For  a  time,  at  intervals, 
a  wagon  was  accustomed  to  bring  in  fowls,  and  melons,  and 
apples,  and  sweet  potatoes,  and  an  occasional  supply  of 
bacon  hams.  But  the  intervals  grew  gradually  longer,  and 
after  a  time  the  wagon  brought  only  apples.  Dick's  slaves 
consulted  their  own  ease,  and  gave  no  thought  to  anything 
beyond  their  own  necessities.  Only  one  had  been  faithful 
to  the  particular  task  assigned  her,  to  open  and  air  the 
house  at  intervals,  to  make  fires  there  in  damp  weather,  to 
sweep  the  fallen  leaves  from  the  verandas,  and  to  look  after 
the  peafowls  and  domesticated  Canada  geese.  Thornton 


The  Removal  to  Lastlands  73 

found  the  place  in  great  disorder.  Most  of  the  beauty 
evoked  by  the  art  of  the  landscape  gardener  is  evanescent, 
requiring  constant  care  to  defend  it  against  the  encroach 
ments  of  Nature,  ever  pushing  her  wild,  restive  forces 
against  his  factitious  ornamentation.  With  uncommon 
power  in  the  rich  soil  of  Lastlands  these  forces  had  been 
at  work.  The  broad  graveled  roads  were  now  overgrown 
and  hidden  by  weeds.  The  wide  fields  were  covered  by  a 
level  growth  of  horse  weeds  and  nettles  as  high  as  Thorn 
ton's  head  as  he  rode  by  them  on  horseback.  The  fences 
and  gates  were  twisted  and  broken.  Over  the  mansion,  with 
its  closed  shutters  and  smokeless  chimneys,  brooded  silence 
and  solitude,  intensifying  the  dismal  air  that  always  rests 
upon  the  abandoned  habitations  of  man.  But  this  only 
stimulated  Thornton's  desire  to  take  possession  of  it  at 
once. 

When  he  scolded  a  little  at  the  slaves  for  neglect  they 
made  but  poor  excuses.  Only  old  Rachel,  whose  task  had 
been  to  take  care  of  the  mansion,  made  a  reasonable  excuse 
for  those  who  could  make  none  for  themselves. 

"'Tain't  good,  Mars  Robert,  to  leave  niggers  by  der- 
selves  to  take  care  of  no  thin'.  Dey  can't  take  care  of  der- 
selves.  Dey'd  all  starve  if  it  warn't  for  me  and  Uncle 
Adam.  We  got  to  tell  'em  every  day  what  dey  got  to  do, 
an'  den  dey  wouldn't  often  do  it.  But  coase  dey  couldn't 
keep  dis  place  like  it  was  in  ole  Marster's  time.  You  comin' 
out  here  to  live,  Mars  Robert  ?  I  heard  you  was." 

"Yes." 

"De  Lord  be  praised !  You  gwine  to  bring  out  all  de 
hands  fum  town?" 

"Yes,  everybody.    We'll  soon  put  everything  in  order." 

"Bless  de  Lord!  It  looks  like  a  ole  wild  prairie  now, 
but  you  gwine  to  make  it  shine  ag^in,  I  know.  Uncle  Adam 
an'  me  cut  de  briers  over  ole  Marster's  and  ole  Mistuss's 
graves,  all  de  time.  But  all  de  other  part  of  de  buryin' 
ground  is  growed  up  in  sprouts  an'  weeds.  We  couldn't 
keep  it  all  cut,  de  hooks  is  so  dull,  an'  de  grindstone  is 
broke;  an'  one  hook's  broke." 

"Well,  never  mind,  Rachel,  we'll  put  everything  in  order 
soon,  There  will  be  plenty  of  time  this  winter  to  get 


74  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

everything  straight.  You  have  done  your  part.  I  will 
see  that  the  others  have  enough  to  do  when  I  come  out  to 
live  here." 

"Shall  I  get  you  some  dinner,  Mars  Kobert?  I  got 
some  beef,  a  nice  little  roast  Mr.  Vaughn  gi'  me.  I  was 
over  thar  yistiddy  helpin'  em  wid  sausages  an'  dey  had 
killed  a  beef.  Dey  put  up  sausages  and  salt  beef  in  barrels, 
an'  sends  dat  an'  de  sausages  down  de  river  to  sell.  I  got 
plenty  of  sweet  potatoes,  too,  an'  Uncle  Adam  can  ketch  you 
a  fish — if  he  ain't  already  got  some." 

"No,  no,  Rachel !  I  met  Mr.  Vaughn  as  I  came  here, 
and  promised  to  dine  with  him." 

"Well,  I  could  git  you  about  as  good  a  dinner  as  Mr. 
Vaughn,  but  I'm  glad  you're  goin'  to  see  him.  He  likes 
all  ole  Marster^s  family,  an'  he's  been  mighty  good  to  us 
all  here,  an'  gives  us  work  often,  an'  pays  us.  Some  of  the 
women  here  used  to  go  over  dere  to  help,  an'  some  of  'em 
knows  how  to  spin  an'  weave,  an'  if  you  git  spinnin'  wheels 
an'  weaving  machines,  can  make  heap  of  stuff  for  clo'es 
for  de  men  an'  women — if  you  gits  some  sheep.  Dey's  bet- 
ter'n  store  goods ;  heap  warmer,  too.  I  got  some  of  it  now. 
Dis  frock  I  got  on  come  from  over  dar." 

"I've  been  thinking  of  that,  and  will  try  to  take  up  with 
many  of  Mr.  Vaughn's  ways." 

That  day  Thornton  dined  with  Mr.  Vaughn.  The  old 
farmer  was  very  cordial,  though  he  had  given  his  invitation 
with  a  modest  and  shy  manner.  He  had  known  well  Thorn 
ton's  father,  but  had  seen  little  of  the  son.  Devoted  to 
work  all  the  year  round,  he  kept  out  of  the  circle  of  the 
neighborhood,  and  led  almost  the  life  of  a  recluse.  But 
his  proximity  to  Lastlands  had  thrown  him  into  the  com 
pany  of  the  elder  Thornton,  and  the  old  Pennsylvania 
farmer  had  been  captivated  by  the  Virginia  planter.  Of 
Robert  Thornton  he  had  seen  little,  even  in  his  boyhood 
at  Lastlands,  and  knew  him  now  only  as  a  fine  gentleman 
associated  with  the  visitors  to  Lastlands  from  the  town. 
He  felt  a  natural  embarrassment  in  inviting  him  to  his 
plain  house  to  dinner,  and  this  had  been  a  subject  of  dis 
cussion  in  his  household.  But  it  was  a  question  soon  set 
tled.  To  leave  him  to  dine  in  the  negro  cabins  at  Lastlands 


The  Removal  to  Lastlands  75 

would  never  do,  and  they  would  just  do  their  duty,  giving 
the  best  the  house  afforded,  and  take  the  consequences. 

The  dinner  was  a  novel  and  delightful  scene  to  Thornton. 
Three  stalwart  sons  of  the  old  farmer  and  one  lad  were 
at  the  table,  all  dressed  in  substantial  home-made  cloth. 
A  young,  fair-haired,  blue-eyed  daughter,  the  child  of  old 
age,  waited  on  the  table.  The  viands  were  excellent.  The 
table  napery  was  all  of  home-made  flaxen  fabric,  and, 
though  not  as  white  nor  as  fine  as  English  or  Irish  linen, 
had  a  substantial  character  in  keeping  with  everything 
around.  Thornton's  appetite,  always  good,  now  sharpened 
by  the  ride  to  Lastlands  and  by  the  fresh  country  air,  was 
ravenous,  and  he  did  ample  justice  to  the  savory  country 
dinner  and  to  the  dessert  of  the  good  housewife.  His  un 
conventional  manner  soon  put  his  host  at  ease,  and  his 
interest  in  the  details  of  farming,  now  fairly  awakened, 
gave  his  experienced  host  ample  material  for  talk  in  answer 
ing  his  various  questions.  Thornton  had  observed  in  all 
the  rooms  except  the  dining-room,  and  on  the  large  porch 
in  the  rear  of  the  house,  the  ceilings  hung  with  clouds 
of  yarn,  and  on  the  floor  of  the  long  back  porch  piles  of 
woven  stuff  of  flax  and  wool,  and  a  group  of  spinning 
wheels  and  weaving  machines,  manifestly  set  aside  for  this 
occasion,  all  suggestive  of  the  thrift  and  industry  of  the 
household.  But  what  he  felt  most  concerned  about  were 
the  details  of  the  farm.  After  dinner,  on  his  asking  the 
old  farmer  to  show  him  something  of  these,  he  was  taken  to 
the  barnyard. 

The  harvest  of  the  year  had  been  unusually  large,  and 
Thornton  found  the  barn  full  in  all  its  compartments  with 
grain  and  hay  and  straw,  and  overflowing  into  the  barn 
yard,  where  a  space  had  been  fenced  off,  within  which 
stood  many  thatched  stacks,  looking  like  quaint  habitations, 
all  ranged  on  the  north  side  to  keep  off  the  cold  winds. 
Spite  of  their  formal  array  they  had  a  certain  picturesque 
beauty  like  that  of  the  teepees  of  the  Indians.  In  the  barn 
he  found  the  hay  and  straw  in  mows  conveniently  placed 
near  the  stalls  of  the  cows  and  the  horses,  and  the  byres 
for  fattening  cattle  in  the  English  fashion.  There  were 
loose  stalls  for  sick  animals,  a  large  littered  room  for  colts, 


76  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

and  another  for  calves,  where  these  were  handled  and  made 
gentle.  In  the  second  story,  over  the  wagon-way,  was  a 
novel  corn-crib  made  altogether  of  open  slats,  from  which 
the  shattered  grain  fell  to  the  ground  below,  to  be  eaten 
by  pigs  and  fowls.  Such  economical  expedients  Thornton 
had  never  seen. except  in  England,  and  asking  where  the 
old  farmer  had  learned  them,  he  answered,  "In  Pennsyl 
vania."  Accustomed  all  his  life  to  look  for  whatever  was 
best  of  its  kind  to  Philadelphia,  a  Philadelphia  lawyer 
being  proverbially  the  sharpest-witted  of  all  lawyers,  know 
ing  that  to  Philadelphia  The  Falls  looked  for  whatever 
was  new  in  fashion,  and  remembering  an  old  set  of  silver- 
mounted  harness  of  his  father,  preserved  and  still  often 
polished  by  old  Tom  Strother,  upon  which  was  wrought 
in  threads  of  silver  the  name  of  the  makers,  "Ogle  &  Wat 
son,  Philadelphia,"  he  was  yet  surprised  to  find  Pennsyl 
vania  furnishing  also  models  for  such  homely  thrift  as  was 
here  displayed.  If  there  occurred  to  his  mind  the  trite 
reflection,  that  this  homely  thrift  is  the  basis  of  the  mighty 
fabric  of  wealth,  and  luxury,  and  vanity  of  the  world,  that 
these  are  all  dependent  upon  the  toil  of  the  agriculturist, 
he  did  not  repine  at  his  choice  of  this  calling,  preferring 
the  independence  it  assures  to  anything  promised  by  that 
other  life  which  he  had  weighed  and  found  wanting. 

Euminating  on  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  at  Vaughn's, 
Thornton  went  back  to  The  Falls  full  of  enthusiasm  for 
a  life  at  Lastlands.  He  would  not  accept  the  generous 
offers  of  his  brother-in-law  and  sister,  and  take  their  inter 
est  there  as  a  gift,  but  he  would  live  there  and  try,  by 
imitating  the  thrifty  methods  of  old  Vaughn,  to  save  the 
means  of  buying  a  part  of  Lastlands,  and  pass  his  life  there, 
realizing  in  some  measure  what  had  been  the  earnest  desire 
of  his  father.  As  for  the  interest  of  his  brother  Dick,  he 
knew  he  might  command  that,  if  he  chose,  by  the  asking, 
and  that  only  the  use  of  it  had  been  offered  lest  the  abso 
lute  ownership  should  stir  him  to  some  scheme  by  which 
it  would  be  lost.  That  night  at  his  fireside  in  town  he 
related  his  experience  at  Lastlands,  and  described  all  he 
had  seen  of  the  industry  and  thrift  of  Vaughn's  house 
hold,  communicating  his  own  enthusiasm  to  Barbara,  and 


The  Removal  to  Lastlands  77 

inspiring  in  his  wife  a  desire  to  remove  to  the  country, 
thinking,  as  she  said,  that  it  might  improve  her  health, 
never  of  the  best,  and  her  spirits,  of  late  sorely  depressed. 
The  one  stumbling  block  to  his  scheme  had  been  the  fear 
that  the  change  would  not  be  agreeable  to  her,  and  this 
removed,  Thornton's  spirits  rose,  and  he  descanted  at  length 
upon  the  happy  lot  of  the  Vaughns.    There  was  not  much 
beauty  there.     Indeed,  a  few  shade  trees  near  the  house, 
and  on  the  porches  some  climbing  roses,  brought  from 
Lastlands  and  set  out  at  the  instance  of  Thornton's  father, 
were  all  that  indicated  any  attempt  at  ornamentation.    But 
there  was  much  of  the  beauty  that  comes  of  order  and 
neatness,  and  there  was  an  air  of  abundance  and  substantial 
wealth  in  cattle  and  horses  and  sheep,  which  gave  to  the 
place  an  aspect  in  the  highest  degree  respectable.    He  told 
them  of  the  details  of  the  farming,  and  the  methods  of 
old  Mr.  Vaughn.     How  he  made  it  an  inviolable  rule  to 
make  no  outlay  of  money  for  supplies;  that  if  anything 
was  needed  some  product  of  the  farm  was  sent  to  market 
to  supply  it.    How  at  regular  intervals  whatever  was  ready 
for  market  was  sent  in  a  wagon  to  The  Falls  for  sale ;  how 
in  his  boyhood  he  had  seen  this  wagon  loaded  with  cotton 
and  woolen  and  flaxen  fabrics,  and  fatted  fowls,  and  butter, 
and  eggs,  and  beeswax,  and  tallow,  on  its  way  to  town. 
How  this  was  always  now  an  occasion  of  great  interest 
in  the  household,  each  member  of  the  family,  even  little 
Phoebe,  sending  with  the  general  cargo  some  special  private 
venture.    How  the  old  farmer  then  put  on  his  best  clothes 
and  his  waterproof  beaver  hat,  well  known  to  all  the  shop 
keepers  at  The  Falls  for  many  years  past,  and  likely  to 
be  known  for  many  more,  and  early  in  the  morning,  taking 
in  hand  his  long  black  leathern  whip,  well  oiled  against 
this  day,  he  mounted  his  stout  wheel-horse  and  drove  away, 
the  yellow  and  white  dog  Ring  trotting  beneath  the  wagon, 
the  whole  family  following  to  the  big  gate,  where  Phoebe 
threw  her  slipper  after  them  for  good  luck,  and  then  watch 
ing  the  wagon  till  it  was  hidden  by  a  turn  in  the  road, 
when  the  good  mother,  heaving  a  sigh,  went  back  and  set 
going  with  unusual  vigor  the  work  of  the  household,  the 


78  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

hum  of  the  spinning-wheel  and  the  clack  of  the  weaver's 
shuttle  making  homely  music. 

Thornton  had  been  struck  with  the  homely  thrift  under 
the  exclusive  management  of  the  good  housewife,  and  made 
of  it  a  lively  picture.  Contrasting  the  life  of  the  Vaughns 
with  his  own  gay  and,  as  it  now  seemed  to  him,  almost 
purposeless  career  in  the  town,  he  had  something  of  the 
thought  of  Lear  at  the  sight  of  Edgar  in  his  blanket — all 
other  life  was  "sophisticated,  this  was  the  real  thing/' 
"You  know,"  he  said,  "it  was  the  habit  of  our  British  an 
cestors,  when  misfortune  overtook  them,  always  to  go  to 
the  country.  Ministers  of  state  when  out  of  favor  at  court, 
and  gentlemen  when  they  lost  fortune,  always  betook  them 
selves  to  their  country  homes:  the  Earl  of  Chatham  to 
Claremont,  Sir  William  Temple  to  Skene  or  Moor  Park, 
and  unhappy  Lord  Bacon  to  Gorhambury." 

"Yes,  Uncle,"  added  Barbara,  "and  you  know  the  Percys, 
when  they  were  poor,  went  to  'The  Hills/  " 

"Yes,  Barbara,  and  Lastlands  shall  be  'The  Hills'  to  us. 
We  will  all  do  our  part  there,  and  learn  to  live  by  work. 
You  shall  have  hens  and  keep  us  in  eggs  and  chickens,  and 
you  may  learn  to  spin  yarn,  and  to  knit  stockings.  Mr. 
Vaughn's  Phoebe  is  only  a  year  or  two  older  than  you,  and 
she  can  spin,  and  looks  as  graceful  at  this  work  as  a  lady 
at  her  harp.  We  shall  have  sheep,  and  spinning-wheels, 
and  weaving  machines,  and  make  everything  we  wear.  And 
we  shall  have  cows  and  plenty  of  milk  and  butter,  and 
you  and  your  Aunt  shall  drink  all  the  cream  you  please, 
and  both  grow  as  stout  as  your  Aunt  Digby." 

Thornton's  idea  of  poverty  was  the  poet's  idea,  an  idyllic 
vision.  How  should  he,  who  had  never  known  what  it  is 
to  have  a  desire  ungratified,  form  any  conception  of  the 
degrading  cares  and  the  mean  shifts  of  this  "real  thing"  ? 
In  high  spirits  he  now  chaunted  the  song  of  Amiens : 

"Under  the  greenwood  tree, 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me. 
And  turn  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat. 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither.  ; 


The  Removal  to  Lastlands  79 

Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather." 

And  then  the  bitter  mood  recurring: 

"Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky: 
Thou  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 

As  benefits  forgot; 
Though  thou  the  waters  warp, 
Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 

As  friend  remembered  not. 

Heigh  ho!     Sing  heigh  ho!  unto  the  green  holly: 
Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere  folly. 

Then,  heigh  ho  the  holly! 

This  life  is  most  jolly!" 

Soon  the  household  was  full  of  enthusiasm  for  the  con 
templated  removal,  which  passed  by  contagion  from  the 
servants  in  waiting  to  the  kitchen  among  the  slaves. 

Two  of  John  Digby's  sons,  one  in  his  fifteenth  year  and 
the  other  three  years  younger,  the  first  named  after  his 
father  but  always  called  John  D.,  and  the  other  named 
Horace,  but  always  called  Buttons,  were  present  at  this 
family  conference,  and  partook  of  the  feeling  so  rife  in  the 
household.  They  were  members  of  a  classical  school  in 
the  town,  John  D.  a  zealous  student  but  a  more  zealous 
sportsman,  and  Buttons  rather  an  idle  fellow  with  a  pas 
sion  for  the  theater  and  shows  in  general.  John  D.  antici 
pated  fine  sport  in  fishing  and  shooting  at  Lastlands,  and 
Buttons  thought  he  might  forego  the  shows  at  times,  and 
enjoy  the  wildwoods  there. 

It  was  not  long  until  many  wagons  stood  before  Thorn 
ton's  door,  among  them  old  Vaughn's  great  farm  wagon 
with  four  stout  horses,  the  yellow  and  white  dog  beneath  it, 
and  the  work  of  removal  was  begun.  Three  days  afterward 
more  wagons  were  there  to  take  away  what  remained.  "Lit 
tle  Dick"  was  getting  the  carriage  in  readiness,  and  old 
Tom  Strother  was  grooming  Thornton's  horse  and  getting 
all  things  in  readiness  for  the  journey.  John  D.  rose  early 
that  morning.  He  threw  up  the  window  to  look  out  at  the 
sky,  when  Buttons  broke  into  the  room  crying,  "The 
pigeons  are  flying!"  and  John  D.  saw  the  air  filled  with 


80  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

great  masses  of  these  birds.  The  sound  of  an  occasionaJ 
shot  was  heard,  and  then  a  heavy  fusillade  in  the  direction 
of  the  river.  "They  are  shooting  down  at  the  bridge  over 
Beargrass,"  said  John  D.  "I  hear  the  lumbering  of  Mr. 
Ormsby's  old  'Queen  Anne/  Mr.  Sands  is  down  there  with 
it.  The  town  will  be  blue  with  pigeons'  feathers." 

"Aren't  you  going  down  ?"  said  Buttons. 

"No,  I  am  going  over  to  Uncle  Rob's,  but  they'll  all  be 
over  here  to  breakfast.  Aren't  you  going  over  to  help  them 
to  get  through  packing?" 

"No,  not  now.  I'm  going  to  take  the  dogs  down  to  fetch 
out  the  birds  that  fall  in  the  water.  I  bet  I  get  more  birds 
than  some  of  the  shooters."  And  then  Buttons  hastened 
away  with  a  number  of  white  water  spaniels  at  his  heels. 

John  D.  and  Buttons  had  been  at  Thornton's  house  until 
a  late  hour  the  night  before,  helping  to  pack  the  remaining 
light  movables  that  accumulate  in  a  household,  things  of 
little  value  but  kept  because  they  have  been  long  in  posses 
sion,  and  the  boxes  required  to  hold  these  trifles  now  made 
almost  a  wagon  load  of  themselves.  John  D.  and  Barbara 
and  Buttons  had  been  very  jovial  while  engaged  in  this 
packing,  and  many  a  merry  outcry  had  been  made  over 
old  forgotten  things  that  were  now  turned  up,  and  the 
evening  had  been  a  very  jolly  one.  But  now  that  the  hour 
had  come  for  leaving  the  old  home,  and  the  wagons  were 
at  the  door  for  the  last  time,  and  Barbara  stood  in  the  door 
way  in  her  shawl  and  hood,  her  cat  in  her  arms,  and  a  tear 
in  her  eye,  ready  long  before  the  time,  and  eager  to  have 
the  parting  over,  the  sight  smote  John  D.'s  heart  with 
sorrow.  People  that  passed  along  the  street  looked  askance 
at  these  final  preparations  for  removal,  many  with  a  shadow 
of  feeling  on  their  faces.  Thornton's  public  spirit  and 
active  benevolence,  and  generosity,  were  known  to  all,  and 
there  was  now  felt  general  compassion  for  his  misfortunes. 
It  is  an  old  saw  that  will  bear  repeating,  that  only  when 
we  are  about  to  lose,  or  have  lost,  our  friends,  do  we  know 
their  value,  and  there  is  no  pang  sharper  than  that  which 
often  comes  then,  a  sense  as  of  having  entertained  angels 
unawares. 

The  wagons  soon  rolled  away  with  their  burdens.    At  a 


The  Removal  to  Lastlands  81 

later  hour  Mrs.  Thornton  and  Barbara  and  John  D.  and 
Buttons  set  out  in  the  carriage,  Thornton  with  old  Tom 
Strother  accompanying  them  on  horseback.  The  cavalcade 
was  no  sooner  in  motion  than  the  spirits  of  the  young  peo 
ple  rose,  and  their  merry  cackle  and  laughter  was  incessant, 
stimulated  afresh  by  the  snow  which  soon  began  to  fall, 
whitening  the  heavy  capes  on  the  great-coats  of  Thornton 
and  his  old  body-servant. 


CHAPTEE  VIII 

THE  PIGEONS 

"Onward  they  came,  a  dark,  continuous  cloud 
Of  congregated  myriads  numberless, 
The  rushing  of  whose  wings  was  as  the  sound 
Of  some  broad  river  headlong  in  its  course." 

THE  FALLS  was  for  many  years  a  compact  town.  The 
early  habit  of  concentration  against  incursions  of  the  In 
dians,  continuing  long  after  this  danger  was  past,  prevent 
ed  it  from  assuming  that  form  peculiar  to  new  towns, 
length  without  breadth.  It  had  been  laid  out  with  five  wide 
streets  running  east  and  west,  and  twelve  narrower  streets 
intersecting  these  at  right  angles,  but  the  dwellings  were 
at  an  early  day  all  within  a  narrow  area.  The  business 
center  remained  for  a  long  time  at  the  intersection  of  the 
fourth  of  these  cross-streets  and  the  first  of  the  wide  streets 
on  the  high  plateau  on  which  the  town  lay,  called  Main 
street.  There  on  the  southeast  corner  stood  a  famous  re 
tail  store,  above  the  door  the  sign  of  a  spinning-wheel,  the 
headquarters  of  the  country  trade.  Hither  came  all  the 
farmers  of  the  surrounding  country  to  buy  or  to  barter, 
exchanging  country  fabrics,  woolen  and  cotton  yarns,  and 
flaxen  and  woolen  fabrics,  knitted  stockings  and  home 
made  cloth,  and  country  products,  honey  and  bees-wax  and 
ginseng,  for  printed  calicoes  and  other  "store  goods."  Long 
wooden  racks  for  horses  extended  along  two  sides  of  the 
intersecting  streets,  with  blocks  sawn  into  steps,  for  the 
convenience  of  female  equestrians.  Directly  opposite  stood 
the  great  wholesale  auction  house  of  Mr.  Robert  Ormsby, 
whose  periodical  sales  brought  throngs  of  country  mer 
chants  from  all  quarters.  Here  was  thus  concentrated  the 

82 


The  Pigeons  83 

bulk  of  the  wholesale  and  retail  trade  of  the  town  in  dry- 
goods;  and  as  that  portion  of  the  street  leading  to  the 
river,  ambitiously  named  Wall  street,  was  for  a  long  time 
the  only  paved  avenue  to  the  wharf,  here  was  to  be  seen 
in  all  its  forms  the  entire  current  of  trade:  slowly  toiling 
up  the  acclivity  from  the  river,  and  diffusing  itself  through 
the  town,  or  pouring  tumultuously  down,  and  brawling 
noisily  over  the  paved  wharf,  and  losing  itself  in  the  greater 
stream  of  commerce  which  then  flowed  in  upon  the  river. 
Yet  all  the  noise  of  this  traffic  did  not  drown  the  roar  of 
the  water  on  the  falls,  whose  deep  monotone  sounded  above 
its  petty  din. 

As  the  town  grew  it  elongated,  stretching  westward, 
drawn  thither  by  the  strong  current  of  trade  with  the  towns 
of  Shippingport  and  Portland  at  the  foot  of  the  falls.  As 
the  steamboats  that  plied  to  New  Orleans  could  not,  except 
in  times  of  high  water,  ascend  to  The  Falls,  this  town  was 
for  a  great  part  of  the  year  handicapped  by  a  portage  of 
some  miles,  and  the  towns  below  were  for  the  same  time 
practically  at  the  head  of  navigation.  Many  people  inclined 
to  believe  that  one  of  these  places,  or  both  united,  would 
at  some  future  time  become  the  chief  seat  of  business  about 
the  falls ;  and  among  the  proprietors  of  lots  in  these  towns 
were  some  who  would  not  have  been  willing  to  exchange 
their  property  there  for  like  possessions  at  The  Falls.  Two 
brothers,  Frenchmen,  Jean  and  Louis  Tarascon,  were  in 
this  category.  They  were  the  proprietors  of  large  flouring 
mills  in  Shippingport,  and  the  owners  of  much  land  there 
already  laid  off  in  lots,  and  were  possessed  with  strong 
faith  in  the  future  of  that  town.  But  after  the  canal  was 
projected  and  seemed  likely  to  be  made,  Jean  lost  faith,  and 
resolved  to  sell  all  his  property  in  lots.  He  was  a  bachelor, 
a  large,  plethoric  man  of  easy  temper,  while  his  brother 
Louis  was  a  married  man,  small  in  stature  but  possessed 
of  all  the  spirit  and  fire  of  the  Gallic  race,  and  habitually 
dominated  his  milder  brother.  Louis  had  unshaken  faith 
in  Shippingport,  but  failing  to  convince  Jean  that  there 
was  no  danger  to  their  interests  from  the  canal,  or  to  con 
trol  his  conduct  in  this  case,  all  Jean's  property  in  lots 
was  put  up  at  auction,  and  the  sale  was  attended  by  a  vast 


84  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

crowd  of  people.  Louis  attended  also,  and  proved  himself 
equal  to  the  emergency.  Bidding  with  a  high  defiant  po 
liteness  over  everybody,  he  bought  in  all  the  lots.  Mr. 
Russell,  a  mischievous  young  gentleman  at  The  Falls,  being 
present,  bid  for  one  of  these  lots  to  such  an  extent  and  so 
rapidly  that  Monsieur  Tarascon  got  almost  into  a  frenzy, 
advancing  often  upon  his  own  bid,  and  when  Mr.  Russell 
bid  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  this  lot,  not  rated 
by  anybody  at  more  than  one  hundred  dollars,  the  little 
French  gentleman  screamed  out,  "Five  hondre  dollaire!" 
and  when  Mr.  Russell  gave  up  the  contest,  grinned  at  him 
and  triumphantly  exclaimed,  "Ah  hah!  Mussieu  Spec-u- 
la-teur I" 

Out  of  the  rivalry  of  these  towns  sprang  two  hostile  fac 
tions  at  The  Falls,  the  "Uptown"  and  the  "Downtown" 
parties,  which,  like  the  Big-enders  and  Little-enders  in 
Laputa,  for  a  long  time  divided  the  town.  Only  they  that 
possessed  lots  in  both  ends,  those  prudent  people  who  al 
ways  cast  anchors  to  leeward  and  are  apt  to  be  found  astride 
of  fences,  kept  out  of  this  fight.  Strange  to  say,  many  who 
did  not  own  property  in  either  end,  nor  anywhere,  were 
among  the  fiercest  combatants !  The  digging  of  the  canal 
at  last  terminated  this  quarrel,  so  far  as  it  concerned  the 
towns  below  the  falls,  relegating  the  fight  to  The  Falls 
alone,  where  it  continued  between  the  opposite  ends  of 
that  town  an  intestine  war,  waged  with  increased  vigor,  de 
moralizing  the  municipal  government  by  injecting  into  its 
council  individual  interests,  which  over-slaughed  the  in 
terests  of  the  public.  Meantime  the  town,  pulled  at  oppo 
site  ends  by  these  parties,  became  in  time  a  veritable  "string 
town,"  of  great  length  and  little  breadth. 

But  at  the  time  we  are  now  considering  the  town  was 
compact.  The  main  business  quarter  was  about  the  locality 
indicated  heretofore  and  was  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
residences  of  great  comfort  and  some  elegance.  Fashion 
had  not  set  up  her  court  in  any  particular  quarter,  but  in 
all  directions  were  distributed  the  dwellings  of  the 
wealthier  citizens.  Most  of  these  were  surrounded  by  ex 
tensive  grounds,  embracing  often  several  acres,  with  fruit 
and  flower  gardens,  and  handsome  lawns  and  graveled 


The  Pigeons  85 

walks,  presenting  an  aspect  of  much  beauty.  But  the 
crowning  glory  of  the  town  in  this  regard  was  in  the  gar 
dens  that  lay  along  the  declivity  to  the  river.  Thrown  into 
terraces,  and  planted  in  fruits  and  flowers,  these  presented 
to  the  view  of  the  visitor  coming  by  the  river  a  delightful 
prospect.  Nowhere  was  to  be  seen  anything  more  charm 
ing  than  these  flowery  parterres,  in  spring  or  early  summer, 
in  bloom  along  the  river  front.  There  the  little  town,  look 
ing  out  upon  the  wide  expanse  of  the  river  and  the  falls, 
was  not  unlike  one  of  its  beautiful  maidens  looking  out 
of  her  dunstable  bonnet  trimmed  with  roses.* 

Upon  the  wharf,  conspicuous  by  its  isolation  on  a  wide 
area  of  stone  pavement,  stood  a  massive  warehouse  of  four 
stories.  The  first  story,  liable  to  be  overflowed  in  times  of 
flood,  was  built  of  heavy  stone  laid  in  hydraulic  lime,  with 
a  solid  floor  of  concrete.  The  upper  stories  were  of  brick 
and  were  all  strengthened  by  solid  hewn  columns  of  wal 
nut  placed  at  intervals  in  line,  and  the  structure  was  but 
tressed  and  girdered  like  a  castle.  Across  the  side  fronting 
the  river  was  a  broad  white  band  bearing  in  large  letters 
the  legend,  "John  Digby,  Commission  and  Forwarding 
Merchant/'  In  the  dull  season  of  low  water  this  warehouse 
was  a  place  of  resort  for  many  people.  Hither  were  ac 
customed  to  come  as  to  headquarters,  for  informati6n  con 
cerning  the  river  and  the  prospects  of  a  rise,  the  magnates 
of  the  fresh-water  marine,  the  captains  of  the  New  Orleans 

*Captain  Basil  Hall  visited  The  Falls  in  1827-8,  and  in  his 
book  of  travels  in  the  United  States  thus  speaks  of  it:  "We 
found  excellent  accommodations  at  the  tavern,  which  was  the 
best-ordered  one  we  had  met  in  America,  though  the  attend 
ants  were  all  slaves.  Nothing  delighted  us  more  at  this  beau 
tiful  spot  than  the  rich,  fresh  greensward — the  honest  grass — 
upon  which  we  could  sit  down  with  comfort.  The  trees  also 
about  the  town  were  incomparably  finer  than  any  we  had  seen 
elsewhere.  They  were  not  only  taller,  but,  having  plenty  of 
space  in  which  to  spread  out  their  branches,  they  had  grown 
up  with  singular  beauty  and  effect.  The  various  bends  and 
reaches,  also,  of  the  magnificent  Ohio,  just  at  this  spot,  covered 
over  with  steamboats  and  rafts,  and  fringed  with  noble  forests 
and  numberless  gay  villas,  added  greatly  to  the  enchantment 
of  the  scenery  at  this  most  interesting  station  of  all  the  back 
woods,"  j 


86  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

steamers,  then  idle,  their  crafts  lying  housed  from  the  sun 
and  weather  below  the  falls,  awaiting  the  moving  of  the 
waters.  The  only  steamers  then  plying  the  river  were  small 
vessels  of  light  draught,  carrying  before  their  bluff  bows 
a  great  mass  of  curling  water  and  foam,  popularly  named 
the  "boom,"  firing  always  in  advance  of  their  arrival  at 
a  landing,  a  small  cannon  from  the  lower  deck;  swelling 
over  the  many  keeled  barges  and  flatboats,  making  the  most 
of  a  temporary  importance. 

To  this  warehouse  came  also  at  intervals  the  few  old 
pioneers  remaining  in  the  settlement,  some  of  whom  had 
known  Boone  and  fought  and  scouted  against  the  Indians, 
and  marched  with  George  Rogers  Clark.  They  all  wore  a 
strange  air  of  abstraction,  a  look  of  invincible  repose,  sin 
gularly  contrasting  with  their  past  stirring  lives — a  happy 
expression  like  that  seen  often  on  the  faces  of  the  deaf. 
And  they  were  in  one  sense  deaf,  deaf  to  the  clamor  and 
contention  of  the  competing  newcomers,  which  they  re 
garded  as  men  regard  the  contention  and  squabbles  of  chil 
dren.  Isolated  among  the  many  new  men  with  new  meth 
ods  and  new  purposes,  they  had  kept  aloof,  yet  in  view  of 
the  throng,  and  within  earshot  of  the  din  of  traffic,  re 
garding  it  as  something  in  which  they  were  incapable  of 
taking  a  part,  but  which  at  last  they  welcomed  for  their 
children's  sake.  A  foreign  writer  who  never  saw  a  pioneer, 
but  evolved  one,  after  the  German  fashion,  from  his  own 
consciousness,  thus  describes  him :  "One  who  had  to  fell 
impenetrable  forests,  and  battle  with  innumerable  wolves, 
and  did  not  forbear  strong  liquor  and  rioting,  and  even 
theft;  whom  nevertheless  the  peaceful  sower  will  follow, 
and  as  he  cuts  the  boundless  harvest,  bless."  Theft !  for 
sooth.  Why,  they  had  not  thrift,  nor  care  enough  for  pelf, 
to  preserve  their  own  hard-earned  possessions  in  lands,  but 
most  of  them  were  stripped  of  all  by  cunning  Jacobs. 
Strong  liquors  they  did  often  take  in  the  settlements,  mak 
ing  easy  the  work  of  the  spoiler.  And  "the  reaper  of  the 
boundless  harvest  bless !"  Alack !  what  cant  is  this  !  These 
men  bore  themselves  with  rare  dignity  and  modesty.  Pos 
sessed  of  that  fine  carriage  taught  always  by  military  train 
ing,  but  especially  in  that  day,  when  the  stately  manner  ira- 


The  Pigeons  87 

parted  by  the  Baron  Steuben  still  subsisted  in  rank  and 
file,  these  old  soldiers  were  on  all  ceremonious  occasions 
noticeable  figures.  They  were  possessed  also  of  strong  re 
ligious  feeling,  and  a  wide  charity  which  embraced  even 
the  savage  foe  that  had  so  often  lurked  in  deadly  ambush  on 
their  path ;  grounded  not  on  dogmas,  but  on  a  simple  faith 
in  the  divine  benevolent  government  of  the  world,  born 
of  no  human  teaching,  but  instilled,  in  their  far  wander 
ings,  by  solitary  communion  with  nature ;  whispered  in  the 
aisles  of  the  pathless  woods  or  sounded  in  anthems  of  the 
storm  through  their  high  arches ;  written  on  the  face  of  the 
great  river  flowing  unruffled,  resistless,  and  across  the  roll 
ing  seas  of  verdant  prairie,  and  everywhere  over  that  wide 
watered  region  where 

"The  long  light  shakes  across  the  lakes, 
And  the  wild  cataract  leaps  in  glory." 

One  of  these  men  lived  to  a  late  period,  and  is  still  well  re 
membered  by  some.  He  passed  his  long,  peaceful  old  age  at 
his  home  a  few  miles  below  the  falls,  on  the  bank  of  the 
river,  along  which  he  had  scouted  and  watched  for  the 
canoes  of  marauding  Indians;  dispensing  there  the  simple 
hospitality  of  the  primitive  days.  In  youth  he  had  been 
Doted  for  prowess,  and  as  "the  bravest  are  ever  the  tender- 
est,"  he  was  soft-hearted  as  a  woman.  An  epitaph  made 
for  him  at  his  request,  by  Johnson,  the  rhymer  of  the  wil 
derness,  when  they  were  boon  companions,  but  not  inscribed 
on  his  tomb,  nor,  as  this  chronicler  believes,  ever  put  in 
print,  may  now  be  given : 

"Here  Johnny  lies  beneath  this  sod, 

Good  Lard,  his  sins  excuse! 
As  he  would  do  were  he  Lord  God, 
And  you  were  Johnny  Hughes." 

The  warehouse  was  also  a  general  rendezvous,  in  the  dull 
season  of  low  water,  for  many  of  the  friends  and  acquaint 
ances  of  the  proprietor,  and  for  his  clients — for  he  was  a 
patron  in  the  Koman  sense  and  had  many  of  these — and 
there  they  were  accustomed  then  to  assemble  daily  to  gossip 
and  to  tell  stories.  The  Falls  had  always  a  full  comple- 


88  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

ment  of  gentlemen  of  leisure  in  that  day,  when  public  opin 
ion  justified  every  man  possessed  of  a  competency  in  ab 
staining  from  all  forms  of  labor.  This  opinion  was  ground 
ed  in  the  minds  of  most  of  the  old  Virginians,  and  as  for 
the  Frenchmen,  it  was  a  part  of  their  philosophy  of  life. 
Moreover,  there  were  then  many  army  officers  attached  to 
a  recruiting  station  there,  and  these  made  a  part  of  this 
agreeable  coterie.  Every  fine  day  in  the  season  of  low 
water,  a  goodly  company  was  to  be  found  in  the  second 
story,  sitting  on  splint-bottomed  chairs  provided  there  for 
their  comfort.  The  place  of  rendezvous  was  in  itself  de 
lightful.  The  fresh  air  from  the  river  was  inspiriting ;  the 
view  of  the  stream,  a  moving  panorama,  was  always  inter 
esting  ;  and  the  steady  rhythm  of  the  water  on  the  falls  dis 
posed  the  mind  of  a  solitary  idler  there  to  pleasing  con 
templation.  At  the  wide  door  was  the  favorite  seat  for  old 
Mr.  Anderson,  the  cashier,  who  often  passed  there  his  hours 
of  leisure,  in  solitary  meditation. 

The  impression  made  upon  strangers  visiting  The  Falls 
varied  essentially  with  the  season.  To  all  that  came  in  time 
of  high  water  the  town  appeared  to  be  full  of  industry  and 
energy,  and  its  people  possessed  of  a  mania  for  money  get 
ting;  while  to  those  that  came  in  the  time  of  low  water, 
especially  such  as  chanced  to  fall  into  this  warehouse  co 
terie,  it  seemed  a  place  of  luxury,  and  its  people  Sybarites 
or  Lotus-eaters.* 

On  a  fine  day  in  November  when  the  Indian  summer  had 
been  protracted  until  almost  the  end  of  the  month,  at  the 
very  time  when  Thornton  was  about  to  go  to  Lastlands  to 
live,  there  was  an  unusually  large  assembly  at  the  ware 
house.  It  was  a  typical  Indian  summer  day.  A  fresh 

*Dr.  McMurtrie,  of  Philadelphia,  who  published,  in  1819, 
an  account  of  The  Falls,  unconsciously  records  these  opposite 
impressions.  On  one  page  he  complains  of  the  eagerness  of 
the  people  in  pursuit  of  money,  and  on  another  gives  the 
following  high-flown  description  of  the  society  there:  "There 
is  a  circle,  small  indeed,  within  whose  magic  rounds  abounds 
every  pleasure  that  wealth  regulated  by  taste  can  bestow. 
There  the  red-heel  of  Versailles  may  imagine  himself  in  the 
emporium  of  fashion  and,  while  leading  beauty  through  the 
mazes  of  the  dance,  forget  that  lie  is  in  the  wilds  qf  America." 


The  Pigeons  89 

southerly  wind  was  blowing;  the  river,  a  mile  wide,  was 
curled  all  over  with  light  waves,  and  shone  and  sparkled 
like  molten  silver,  while  the  bright  sun  tempered  the  air 
into  the  most  delicious  of  all  weather.  This  and  the  re 
turn  home  of  Captain  Shelby  and  Mr.  Joe  Sterrett  from 
a  hunting  expedition  to  N"ew  Madrid,  and  the  expectation 
that  they  would  be  present  and  give  an  account  of  their 
hunt,  caused  this  unusual  concourse.  The  talk  of  this  ex 
pectant  assembly  was  now  chiefly  of  the  weather  and  its 
prognostics,  especially  of  one  of  these,  recognized  as  in 
dicating  an  impending  change,  the  flight  of  the  passenger 
pigeons.  Since  daylight  these  birds  had  been  coming,  in 
a  continuous  line  a  mile  wide,  from  the  northeast.  This 
was  said  to  indicate  that  snow  or  cold  rain  would  soon 
come  from  that  quarter.  The  coming  of  these  birds  in  such 
numbers,  hardly  conceivable  by  those  who  do  not  remember 
that  time,  was  always  a  matter  of  interest,  attracting  at 
tention  as  do  storms  or  other  atmospheric  phenomena.  Most 
interesting  indeed  was  their  flight  when  moving  across  the 
land  in  quest  of  food ;  traversing  the  continent  with  celerity 
beyond  the  reach  of  any  contrivance  of  man  !  At  first  they 
came  in  small  bodies,  feeding  mainly  on  pokeberries  and 
the  fruit  of  the  gum,  scouts  spying  out  the  land.  Soon 
larger  detachments  were  seen,  far  apart,  too  far  apart 
for  even  telescopic  vision,  yet  following  day  after  day  in 
the  same  line,  as  if  the  route  were  traced  in  the  air  or 
along  the  earth.  Coming  in  increasing  numbers  and  at 
last  congregated  in  such  force  as  to  become  of  grave  con 
cern  to  the  agriculturist,  whose  supply  of  nuts  from  the 
beeches  and  oaks — the  "mast"  upon  which  he  relies  to  sus 
tain  his  stock  of  pigs — was  all  swept  away  by  these  vora 
cious  birds.  In  all  the  phases  of  their  life  they  are  inter 
esting,  especially  in  their  second  appearance,  when  through 
the  forest,  poised  in  mid-air,  they  feed  upon  the  wild 
grapes,  fluttering  suspended  beneath  the  clusters,  emitting 
an  eager  cry,  pate-pate.  Afterward  they  swarmed  along 
the  ground,  covering  acres  in  the  untrodden  beechwoods, 
tossing  the  fallen  leavas  abroad,  and  rising  with  a  sound 
like  thunder.  But  above  all  they  impressed  the  mind  when 
at  last  congregated  in  numbers  that  defied  computation; 


90  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

in  their  flight  obscuring  the  sun,  and  requiring  many 
square  miles  of  forest-land  for  their  roosts  or  their  nests. 
At  all  times  their  movements  were  marked  by  peculiar 
grace,  comparable  only  to  that  of  mists  or  the  clouds, 
movements  so  harmonious  that,  like  the  tiny  insects  that 
make  Eiffel  towers  in  the  winter  air,  though  myriads  in 
number,  they  strike  the  mind  as  a  unit;  and  men  spoke 
of  "the  pigeon"  as  they  speak  of  "the  people,"  or  "the 
army,"  with  no  thought  of  individuality,  but  only  a  vast 
aggregate — "distinct  as  the  billows,  but  one  as  the  sea." 

They  were  now  in  great  force,  casting  a  perceptible  shad 
ow  over  the  river  and  the  ground,  and  filling  the  air  with 
the  continuous  murmur  of  their  wings.  Suddenly  there 
was  an  intermission  in  their  flight,  and  it  seemed  at  an 
end.  But  after  a  short  interval  there  came  what  appeared 
to  be  a  vast  rear-guard,  whose  flight  was  pitched  at  a  lower 
level.  As  these  approached  the  river  there  was  a  movement 
in  their  body  that  instantly  arrested  attention.  The  pigeons 
were  about  to  drink  at  the  river.  They  slackened  their 
flight  and  began  to  lower  their  pitch,  and  when  the  head 
of  the  column  came  over  the  "suck"  of  the  falls,  where  the 
swiftness  of  the  current  preserves  always  on  the  water  a 
smooth  glassy  surface,  they  still  further  slackened  their 
flight,  and  half  closing  their  wings  descended  nearly  to 
the  surface  of  the  water.  Then  a  large  mass  in  advance, 
darkening  as  they  came  into  still  closer  order,  sprang  up 
ward  again,  separating  themselves  from  the  main  body,  and 
rolling  abroad  like  a  vast  cloud  of  smoke,  hovered  sus 
pended  above  the  river.  Meanwhile,  the  main  body  descend 
ed,  spreading  themselves  far  and  wide  along  the  river.  For 
a  mile  or  more  the  water  was  soon  covered  and  hidden  as 
by  a  dense  blue  vapor.  Then  the  hovering  birds  descended 
and  the  vast  multitude  was  fluttering  above  the  water,  as 
cending  and  descending  within  a  space  of  ten  feet  above 
the  surface,  in  seeming  inextricable  confusion.  Suddenly 
the  whole  mass  lifted  like  a  mist,  and  rising  and  expanding 
as  they  fell  again  into  open  order,  and  extending  beyond 
the  shores  on  either  side  until  they  reached  the  height  from 
which  they  had  descended,  when  in  a.  vast  level  sheet  they 
sped  again  upon  their  course, 


The  Pigeons  91 

There  was  a  shout  of  admiration  from  the  spectators  in 
the  warehouse,  and  a  still  louder  shout  from  the  many 
people  on  the  wharf,  who  had  witnessed  the  evolutions  of 
the  birds  and  gave  them  a  parting  cheer.  It  was  thought 
that  in  the  seeming  confusion  many  birds  must  have  been 
jostled  into  the  water.  But  Lieutenant  Gait,  who  had 
watched  them  through  a  glass,  and  had  several  times  ex 
claimed,  "What  marvelous  drill !"  being  asked  if  he  saw 
any  birds  on  the  water,  answered,  "Xo,  not  one.  I  don't  be 
lieve  there  was  even  a  wet  foot  among  them  all.  They  drank 
against  the  current,  each  taking  but  a  single  gulp." 

Then  Mr.  Joe  Sterrett  came  in  and  was  received  with 
acclamations  and  handshaking,  and  was  hardly  settled  in 
his  seat  before  he  was  called  on  for  an.  account  of  his  bear 
hunt. 

"I  have  a  busy  day  before  me,"  said  Mr.  John  Digby, 
the  proprietor,  "but  I  must  hear  the  story  of  two  such 
Nimrods  as  you  and  Captain  Shelby  among  the  bears.  Tom 
Long,  pull  tip  some  of  those  bales  of  oakum,  there  are  not 
chairs  enough." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  BEAR  HUNT 

"The  blood  more  stirs 
To  rouse  the  lion  than  to  start  a  hare." 

"THE  CAPTAIN  and  I  had  an  invitation  to  visit  P.  at 
his  plantation  near  New  Madrid,  and  went,  there  on  the 
steamer  Vesuvius.  The  Captain  said  that  he  was  done 
with  hunting  the  harmless.,  innocent  deer.  He  longed  to 
seek  the  black  bear  in  his  home  in  the  wilderness.  'He's  a 
foe/  said  he,  'worthy  of  any  hunter's  steel.  There  is  some 
excitement  in  hunting  him,  because  if  hard  pressed,  he 
sometimes  hunts  you.  The  deer  are  helpless.  They  can 
run  away  if  they  see  you  in  time,  but  that  is  their  only 
means  of  escape.  When  I  was  out  last  fall  with  Floyd  and 
the  Club,  I  got  sick  of  deer-hunting.  I  hated  to  see  a 
man  come  in  Avith  red  hands,  the  sure  sign  that  another 
innocent  had  died,  when  we  had  already  twenty  hanging 
on  the  poles.  I  saw  one  of  our  men  shoot  a  doe  fawn,  on 
the  ridge  that  overlooks  Knob  Creek,  and  it  slid  down  the 
hill  to  the  water's  edge,  bleating  all  the  way  in  a  piteous 
tone  that  went  to  my  heart.  I  don't  think,  though  I  may 
change  my  mind,  but  I  don't  think  that  I  shall  ever  shoot 
another  deer;  certainly  never  a  doe  fawn.  But  a  bear! 
Why,  I  could  drive  a  knife  or  send  a  bullet  to  his  heart  and 
never  feel  a  qualm.' 

"I  had  none  of  the  Captain's  sentimental  feeling  for  the 
deer,  but  I  had  an  appetite  as  keen  as  his  for  the  bears. 
We  had  long  been  preparing  for  this  hunt.  The  Captain 
had  his  large  double-barreled  shotgun  overhauled,  the 
frizen  hardened  and  the  touch-hole  bushed,  and  new  flints 
put  in.  We  had  molded  bullets  of  all  sizes,  and  tried  them 
at  various  distances,  with  different  charges  of  powder,  put- 

92 


The  Bear  Hunt  93 

ting  in  such  heavy  loads  that  our  arms  were  black  and 
blue  from  the  recoil.  At  last  we  settled  upon  what  we 
thought  a  just  medium  which  was  still  a  pretty  heavy 
charge,  the  Captain  not  being  willing  to  trust  any  ordinary 
charge  in  shooting  a  bear.  He  had  contrived  a  cartridge 
made  of  the  smooth  oily  paper  from  the  inside  of  a  box  of 
spermaceti  candles,  which  seemed  to  answer  the  purpose  of 
holding  the  shot  together  for  some  distance.  He  had  great 
confidence  in  this  after  some  trials  at  an  oak-slab  down 
at  the  saw-pit,  and  told  me  triumphantly,  that  he  could 
blow  a  hole  as  big  as  a  window  pane  through  a  bear  at 
forty  yards. 

"All  the  way  down  the  river  he  was  reconnoitering  the 
shores,  and  when  we  got  into  the  wild  district  near  the 
mouth  of  the  Ohio,  he  brought  out  his  spy-glass  and  scru 
tinized  the  tangled  brakes  there,  in  hopes  of  sighting  a 
bear.  'Joe/  he  would  say,  'that's  wild-looking  ground !  It 
looks  as  if  it  might  yield  at  least  one  bear  to  the  acre.'  In 
due  time  we  reached  P.'s  landing.  The  boat  had  some 
freight  for  him,  and  had  rung  her  bell  to  give  notice  of  this 
as  we  rounded  the  bend,  and  we  found  two  negroes  with  a 
wagon  awaiting  its  coming.  Into  this  we  mounted  and  set 
out  for  P.'s  house.  The  Captain  asked  the  negroes  many 
questions  about  the  bears.  There  were  plenty  of  them,  they 
said,  and  told  us  of  a  hog  having  been,  a  few  nights  before, 
killed  in  the  pen  there  by  bears.  At  this  the  Captain  gave 
me  a  significant  look,  and  said  'Right  in  the  pen !' 

"  'Yas,  sir,  right  in  the  pen.' 

"  'Did  the  bear  leave  any  sign  by  which  you  could  judge 
of  his  size — any  tracks  ?' 

"  'Yas,  sir ;  plenty  of  signs  an'  tracks.  He  was  a  big  one 
sho',  an'  I  believe  there  was  more'n  one  of  'em/ 

"The  Captain  did  not  ask  any  other  questions.  He  had 
heard  enough,  and  settled  himself  in  his  seat  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  saw  within  reach  what  he  had  been  longing 
for  half  his  life.  He  had  reached  the  promised  land.  Scon 
after  this  we  were  at  the  house,  where  P.  welcomed  us  with 
a  hospitable  shout. 

"After  supper  we  had  cob  pipes  and  talk  for  an  hour  or 
longer,  when  P.  proposed  to  invite  some  of  his  neighbors  to 


94  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

join  us  in  a  hunt.  But  to  this  the  Captain  demurred,  say 
ing  that  he  would  prefer  for  a  few  days  quiet  still-hunting, 
until  we  should  get  somewhat  acquainted  with  the  country. 
At  an  early  hour  he  complained  of  being  sleepy,  and  we 
were  shown  to  our  rooms,  where  we  found  two  comfortable 
beds  and  all  our  traps.  'Now,  Joe/  said  he,  when  he  had 
closed  the  door,  speaking  in  an  undertone,  'I  don't  want 
P.  to  bring  in  these  neighboring  bear  hunters;  they  will 
bring  dogs  and  run  the  game  all  away.  I  want  to  take 
home  the  skin  of  a  bear  of  my  own  killing,  and  have  it 
tanned  and  trimmed  and  keep  it  as  a  trophy  and  memento 
for  my  grandchildren,  as  John  Digby  does  the  skin  of  that 
big  panther  he  killed  on  Blue  Eiver.'  Soon  after  we  made 
a  last  inspection  of  our  arms  and  equipments,  and  went 
to  bed. 

"Next  morning  at  breakfast  the  Captain  said  little  about 
bear-hunting,  assuming  a  strange  indifference.  He  had  told 
me  before  going  down  from  our  room,  that  it  would  not 
do  to  show  too  much  eagerness  or  P.  would  take  us  for  a 
couple  of  greenhorns;  which,  as  far  as  bear-hunting  was 
concerned,  we  certainly  were.  To  some  suggestions  of  P. 
on  the  subject  he  replied  that  we  intended  to  take  a  little 
hunt  in  the  direction  of  the  river,  not  especially  after  bears, 
but  prepared  for  anything  that  might  turn  up.  He  smoked 
a  pipe  after  breakfast,  walking  carelessly  up  and  down  the 
veranda.  P.'s  horse  had  been  standing  hitched  near  the 
door  since  an  early  hour,  and  we  knew  that  he  was  going 
away  for  some  hours,  on  necessary  business,  and  pretty  soon 
after,  having  excused  himself  for  the  second  time,  bidding 
us  make  ourselves  at  home  until  we  should  meet  at  dinner, 
he  mounted  and  rode  away. 

"No  sooner  was  P.  out  of  sight  than  the  Captain  began 
to  prepare  for  a  hunt.  We  had  put  on  our  hunting-clotTies 
in  the  morning.  Mine  consisted  of  an  ordinary  woolen 
jacket  with  plenty  of  good  pockets,  a  pair  of  strong  tow- 
linen  breeches  and  heavy  boots.  The  Captain's  dress  was 
like  mine,  except  that  he  had  two  extra  pockets  in  the 
jacket,  which  held  a  pair  of  short  big-bored  pistols  intended 
for  close  quarters.  My  armament  consisted  of  a  double- 
barrel  shotgun  of  medium  size,  loaded  with  the  accepted 


The  Bear  Hunt  95 

charge  of  powder  and  balls,  a  pistol,  and  a  butcher  knife. 
The  Captain,  in  addition  to  his  large  shotgun  and  the  pis 
tols  mentioned,  had  another  pair  of  rifled  pistols  of  large 
bore,  which  hung  in  a  belt  about  his  waist,  and  an  unusual 
ly  large  hunting-knife,  double-edged  and  ground  as  sharp 
as  a  razor.  Then  he  brought  out  another  which  he  had  dis 
covered  somewhere  about  P.'s  premises,  rough  but  having  a 
fine  edge  and  temper,  and  weighing  three  or  four  pounds, 
which  he  insisted  I  should  carry.  To  this  I  objected  and  he 
insisted,  and  we  had  a  dispute  over  it.  But  I  was  resolved 
not  to  carry  any  more  weight,  and  at  last  finding  me  ob 
stinate,  he  buckled  it  on  himself.  He  wore  a  light  foxskin 
cap,  and  now  reminded  me  of  Eobinson  Crusoe  when  he 
went  out  to  make  his  first  attack  on  the  savages. 

"We  set  out  in  the  direction  indicated  by  one  of  the  ne 
groes  (with  whom  the  Captain  had  had  a  confidential  talk), 
as  a  quarter  in  which  bears  were  most  likely  to  be  found, 
and  we  were  soon  in  a  very  wild  region.  We  now  walked 
with  great  caution,  our  guns  at  full  cock,  expecting  at  any 
moment  to  come  upon  a  bear.  The  cracking  of  a  dry  stick 
breaking  under  our  feet  more  than  once  brought  us  into  a 
fighting  attitude.  Our  course  was  devious,  determined  by 
the  character  of  the  ground.  In  some  places  the  cane  was 
so  thick  and  matted  as  to  be  impassable,  while  at  others 
the  ground  was  free  from  obstruction.  We  came  at  last 
to  a  point  from  which  we  saw  ahead  of  us  the  light  of  an 
opening,  which  we  took  to  be  a  clearing.  But  it  proved  to 
be  a  wide  open  expanse,  without  trees,  except  one  lone 
cypress  which  grew  a  short  distance  from  the  edge  where 
we  stood.  It  was  evidently  a  tract  of  low  ground  covered, 
except  in  dry  times,  by  water.  The  wild  growth  of  weeds 
and  aquatic  plants,  now  dry  and  of  a  second  mourning 
color,  was  of  great  height,  and  stood  thick  on  the  ground, 
stretching  away  on  a  dead  level,  in  a  sinuous  course,  a  mile 
or  more,  until  it  was  lost  in  the  woods.  This  dismal  pros 
pect  was  heightened  by  a  faint  odor  of  carrion  in  the  air, 
and  the  rising  out  of  the  weeds  of  a  troop  of  turkey  buz 
zards,  which  settled  lazily  upon  the  solitary  cypress.  The 
depressing  landscape  quickly  told  upon  the  Captain's  sus 
ceptibility.  'Joe/  he  said,  'this  is  a  gloomy  country.  The 


96  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

general  dead  flat  is  bad  enough,  but  that  view  and  this  lone 
cypress  with  its  load,  and  the  death  smell  in  the  air,  give 
ine  the  blues.  Let's  go  back  and  look  up  a  livelier  region.' 

"Eetracing  our  steps,  we  had  nearly  reached  the  open 
ground  within  view  of  P.'s  house,  and  had  dismissed  the 
lively  apprehension  with  which  we  had  set  out,  and  were 
now  apprehensive  only  that  we  should  find  no  bears  at  all, 
when  we  saw  an  open  lane  cut  square  through  the  cane- 
brake  in  the  direction  of  the  river,  the  ground  bearing  old 
marks  of  wheels  and  sleds,  indicating  that  once  it  had  been 
used  for  a  road.  Down  along  this  lane  we  now  went,  more, 
I  believe,  because  of  the  easy  walking  than  anything  else, 
indifferent  about  bears,  though  any  number  of  them  might 
lurk  in  the  jungles  that  lay  along  its  sides.  We  had  gone 
about  half  a  mile  along  this  roadway  when  I  saw,  in  a  low 
tree,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  two  black  objects.  'Stop, 
Captain!'  I  said.  'What  are  those  black  things  in  that 
tree?'  Instantly  he  pulled  out  his  spyglass  and  put  it  on 
them.  'By  blood !'  he  said,  in  an  impressive  whisper,  still 
holding  the  glass  to  his  eye,  'they  are  cub  bears !'  Then  he 
took  down  the  glass  and  began  to  reconnoiter  the  ground. 
Then  he  put  up  the  glass  again.  Then  he  said,  'Now,  Joe, 
if  we  slip  along  on  the  left  hand  and  keep  that  box  alder 
between  us  and  them,  we  can  make  a  rush  from  that  and 
get  under  the  tree  before  they  can  come  down.  We'll  catch 
'em  both  and  take  'em  home  for  pets !'  We  did  do  exactly 
what  he  suggested,  and  got  right  under  them  before  we 
were  discovered.  The  little  bears  didn't  seem  disturbed 
by  seeing  us  below,  but  sat  quietly  on  the  limbs,  looking 
down  at  us.  'Now,  Joe,'  whispered  the  Captain,  'if  you  will 
slip  off  your  boots  and  climb  up  after  them,  I'll  keep  watch 
below  and  catch  'em  if  they  come  down.' 

"At  the  word  I  took  off  my  boots,  and  laying  aside  all 
my  arms  and  accouterments,  climbed  to  the  first  limbs  of 
the  tree.  This  startled  the  cubs  a  little,  and  they  moved 
farther  out  toward  the  end  of  the  limbs.  'Stop,  Joe !'  cried 
the  Captain.  'Wait  till  I  get  off  my  things/  and  he  quickly 
disencumbered  himself,  as  I  had  done.  Then  I  advanced 
along  the  limb  upon  which  the  nearer  of  the  cubs  rested, 
the  Captain  moving  around  below,  keeping  under  the  cub, 


The  Bear  Hunt  97 

his  hands  stretched  out  ready  to  catch  it  when  shaken  from 
the  tree.  But  it  did  not  wait  to  be  shaken.  It  made  a  lit 
tle  cry,  'coot-coot/  and  dropped  from  the  tree,  and  in  spite 
of  the  Captain's  efforts  to  catch  it,  scampered  away  into 
the  canebrake.  Then  I  went  back  to  the  trunk  of  the 
tree,  thinking  to  reach  the  limb  upon  which  the  other  cub 
sat.  But  at  that  moment  there  was  a  crash  in  the  cane, 
the  Captain  stooped  to  the  ground,  looked  under  the  cane, 
and  rose  running !  I  leaped  from  the  tree  and  followed.  I 
was  a  noted  runner  at  school;  hardly  anybody  could  beat 
me.  I  didn't  know  whether  I  could  outrun  a  bear,  but  I 
had  no  doubt  about  being  able  to  outrun  the  Captain.  But 
I  was  mistaken  in  my  man.  I  couldn't  gain  an  inch  on 
him.  A  faster  or  a  smoother  racer  I  have  never  seen.  His 
shoulders  worked  like  clockwork.  I  looked  at  his  gray 
locks  streaming  behind,  and  said  to  myself,  'Is  it  possible 
I  can't  outrun  this  old  man  ?'  and  then  I  put  on  the  steam, 
but  it  was  no  use.  Then  I  glanced  behind  and  saw  that 
the  bear  was  not  following.  I  saw  her  rise  on  her  hind  feet, 
and  look  about  on  all  sides,  and  then  run  back.  Then  I 
called  out  as  loudly  as  I  could,  '0  Captain !'  but  this  only 
made  him  run  faster.  He  had  now  gained  upon  me  con 
siderably,  and  as  I  didn't  like  to  be  left  behind  alone,  lest 
another  bear,  perhaps  the  old  'he/  should  pop  out  of  the 
jungle,  I  once  more  put  on  the  steam  and  gained  a  little 
on  him.  At  last,  seeing  the  light  of  the  clearing,  where 
we  had  entered,  he  slackened  his  pace  and  then  stopped. 
Throwing  himself  against  a  sapling,  and  hooking  his  arm 
over  one  of  the  low  limbs,  he  stood  looking  back  at  me. 
Coming  up  I  took  a  similar  position  against  another  sap 
ling,  and  we  stood  facing  each  other.  We  had  run  at  the 
top  of  our  speed  more  than  half  a  mile.  Neither,  could 
speak.  Our  mouths  were  wide  open,  both  emitting  a  sound 
like  the  honking  of  a  wild  goose;  but  neither  could  articu 
late.  We  exchanged  frequent  speaking  glances,  but  were 
incapable  of  any  utterance  but  'honk — honk — honk/  I 
can't  tell  how  long  we  remained  in  this  condition.  It 
seemed  as  if  we  should  never  get  back  our  voices.  I  felt 
a  sharp  pain  in  my  chest,  as  if  from  a  heavy  blow.  Some 
thing  seemed  to  have  collapsed  within  there;  and  there  was 


98  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

a  taste  of  salt  in  my  mouth,  as  if  from  blood.  I  could  not 
believe  but  that  I  was  bleeding  from  the  lungs,  until  I 
had  several  times  wiped  my  mouth  with  my  shirt  sleeve  and 
found  no  blood.  When  I  thought  I  could  articulate,  I  said, 
'Captain — don't  you — honk — honk — think — we  better  go — 
honk — honk — back  after  the  things  ?' 

"He  shook  his  head  emphatically.  'No,  sir !  I  bedamfu- 
catch — honk — honk — honk — me — honk — honk — back  there 
— honk — 'thout — I — go — on — a — honk — honk — horse!' 

"Of  course,  in  due  time  we  got  back  our  wind  and  our 
voices.  'Now,  Joe/  said  the  Captain,  seating  himself  on 
a  log,  and  mopping  his  face  with  a  red  silk  handkerchief, 
and  running  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  which  was  as 
wet  as  if  he  had  been  dipped  in  the  river — in  fact,  there 
was  not  a  dry  stitch  on  either  of  us — 'now,  Joe,  this  is  a 
devilish  bad  business.  I'll  tell  you  what  we  have  got  to 
do.  There  are  two  horses  in  the  stable  that  P.  has  set 
aside  for  our  especial  use,  a  little  bay  pony  and  a  large 
gray  horse.  You  can't  miss  finding  them.  Now,  you  just 
slip  over  there  without  letting  anybody  see  you,  if  you 
can  help  it,  and  bring  the  horses  here,  and  we  will  ride  back 
and  get  our  guns  and  things.' 

"I  'slipped  over,'  as  he  suggested,  and  got  the  horses; 
and  we  rode  back  into  the  enemy's  country.  We  found  our 
guns  and  accouterments  lying  under  the  tree  just  as  we 
had  left  them.  The  enemy  had  departed  and  made  no 
sign.  The  Captain  was  the  first  to  dismount.  He  grasped 
his  gun  and  turned  to  me.  'Get  down,  Joe,  and  get  your 
things  together  while  I  stand  guard.  I  reckon  you  think 
me  a  blanked  coward,  but  I  should  now  just  like  to  see 
the  biggest  bear  in  the  wilderness  come  forth.  If  I  don't 
stand  right  here  and  have  it  out  with  him  my  name  isn't 
Jim  Shelby.' 

"I  got  my  arms  and  accouterments  together,  and  then 
I  stood  guard  while  he  recovered  his,  and  then  we  rode 
away,  the  Captain  continuing  to  talk.  'Joe,'  said  he,  'we 
did  not  behave  like  heroes,  that's  certain.  But  then  you 
know  that  many  great  heroes  have  made  a  bad  showing  in 
their  first  battles.  There's  Frederick  the  Great,  he  ran 
clean  out  of  his  first  fight.' 


The  Bear  Hunt  99 

"  'Yes/  said  I,  "and  you  remember  that  the  Roman  sol 
diers  ran  like  scared  dogs  when  they  first  saw  the  elephants 
of  Pyrrhus.' 

"'To  be  sure  they  did/  said  the  Captain,  'and  this  is 
our  first  encounter  with  bears.  But,  Joe,  we've  got  to  do 
something  to  set  us  up  again  in  our  own  esteem/  And 
then,  as  we  neared  the  opening,  he  said:  'Joe,  we  must 
keep  this  thing  a  dead  secret.  It  will  never  do  to  let  P. 
know  it.  We  should  never  hear  the  last  of  it.' 

"Of  course,  I  promised. 

'"Well  now,  hold  on/  he  said,  pulling  up  his  horse,  'and 
let  us  talk  it  over  awhile.  P.  will  know  that  something 
out  of  the  way  has  happened  if  you  give  him  the  least  hint. 
-So  don't  let  him  see  you  grinning  to  yourself  while  you 
are  fixing  this  thing  up,  with  all  sorts  of  additions  and 
embellishments,  to  make  a  good  story  for  the  company  at 
Digby's  warehouse.  P.  knows  you  like  a  book,  and  if  he 
sees  you  at  that  he  will  never  rest  till  he  pumps  it  all  out 
of  you.' 

"  'Don't  you  be  uneasy  about  me/  said  I ;  'if  you  do  noth 
ing  to  rouse  suspicion  you  may  depend  upon  it  I  will  not.' 

"The  Captain,  I  forgot  to  say,  was  riding  the  pony.  He 
had  chosen  him  because,  in  case  we  should  again  encounter 
the  bear,  the  back  of  the  little  horse  would  be  the  post  of 
danger;  the  Captain's  long  legs  being  within  easy  reach 
of  the  ground.  This  was  the  first  step  toward  setting  him 
self  up  in  his  own  esteem.  As  he  sat  upon  the  little  horse 
I  could  not  help  admiring  his  fine  physique.  He  showed 
to  manifest  advantage  mounted  upon  the  pony.  To  some 
persons  his  length  of  limb  might  be  an  objection,  but  to 
me,  considering  only  the  running  points  of  the  man  who 
had  beaten  me  in  a  race  for  life,  this  was  a  positive  beauty. 
He  saw  my  admiring  scrutiny,  and  was  evidently  pleased 
with  it.  Feeling  inclined  now  to  joke  a  little,  I  said,  'Cap 
tain,  that  little  pony  sets  off  your  figure  to  great  advantage. 
I  think  it  would  be  a  good  hint  to  painters  and  sculptors 
of  equestrian  figures  to  see  you  now.  You  have  not  got 
the  form  commonly  given  to  ancient  heroes,  but  you  have 
splendid  racing  points.' 

"You  ought  to  have  seen  the  look  he  gave  me  as  he 


100  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

said,  'There  you  go,  now!  By  blood!  I  bet  fifty  dollars 
that  in  less  than  twenty-four  hours  P.  will  know  the  whole 
story,  and  we  shall  be  the  laughing-stock  of  the  whole 
plantation — negroes  and  all.' 

"Pretty  soon  we  were  back  at  the  house,  when  we  quickly 
put  off  all  our  dreadful  array  of  arms  and  seated  ourselves 
on  the  veranda  to  rest,  and  to  solace  ourselves  with  pipes. 
Not  long  after,  P.  came  home.  He  hailed  at  once  to  know 
if  we  had  been  out,  and  what  luck  we  had  had.  'Well/ 
said  the  Captain,  in  haste  to  indicate  our  line  of  action, 
we  took  a  little  round,  down  beyond  the  clearing  toward  the 
river,  but  we  didn't  kill  anything.' 

"  'Didn't  see  any  bears,  hey  ?'  suppressing  a  grin. 

"  'No — that  is,  we  saw  a  couple  of  cubs,  but  they  scam 
pered  away  into  the  cane,  and  we  didn't  see  them  again.' 

"  'A  couple  of  cubs !  Why,  the  old  she  must  have  been 
near  at  hand.  Did  you  see  nothing  of  her  ?' 

"  'No,  I  didn't  see  her,'  said  the  Captain. 

"P.'s  interest  was  excited  by  the  news  of  the  old  she 
and  cubs,  so  near  at  hand,  and  I  don't  know  what  might 
have  been  the  result  of  further  questioning,  but  the  arrival 
of  a  fourth  party,  Mr.  Luke,  a  neighbor,  broke  off  the  col 
loquy,  and  soon  after  we  were  called  to  dinner. 

"After  dinner  P.  invited  us  to  walk  out  in  front  of  his 
house  that  he  might  explain  some  improvements  contem 
plated  there,  and  we  walked  about  listening  to  him.  He 
had  cleared  away  the  greater  part  of  the  native  forest,  leav 
ing  groups  at  intervals,  and  some  lone  trees,  chiefly  pecans. 
We  had  to  follow  him  for  some  time  to  see  all  he  had  to 
show  us,  and  I  observed  that  the  Captain  was  lagging 
behind,  and  I  knew  was  fatigued.  At  last  he  sat  down 
under  a  pecan  tree,  resting  himself  upon  the  trunk  of  a 
fallen  tree  that  lay  close  to  the  pecan.  Then  he  reclined 
against  one  of  the  forks  that  sloped  upward  from  the  lap, 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  red  silk  handkerchief  and  fell 
asleep. 

"Upon  the  pecan  tree  was  a  large  fox-squirrel  which  had 
dined  there,  and  now  wanted  to  come  down.  He  would 
come  down  pretty  near  to  where  the  Captain  lay,  and  then 
fly  back  up  the  tree,  and  turn  his  head  downward  and 


The  Bear  Hunt  101 

wriggle  his  tail,  and  bark.  Then  he  would  slide  down 
again,  and  the  same  thing  would  be  repeated.  This  had 
gone  on  for  some  time,  when  a  new  idea  seemed  to  occur 
to  the  squirrel.  He  went  down  on  the  side  of  the  tree 
opposite  that  on  which  the  Captain  lay,  and  might  have 
reached  the  ground  without  coming  in  view  of  the  terrible 
object  there,  but  when  near  the  ground,  curiosity  overcame 
his  fear,  and  cautiously  moving  around,  he  got  sight  of 
the  red  handkerchief,  and  heard  a  frightful  roaring  be 
neath  it,  and  then  a  convulsive  snort,  which  threw  him 
into  such  a  spasm  of  fright,  that  he  fell  off  by  the  Captain's 
head,  uttering  his  usual  cry  of  alarm,  'sKirrick,  skirrick,' 
in  a  shrill  key,  and  rustling  among  the  dry  leaves  and 
branches  in  such  a  way  as  startled  the  Captain  from  his 
slumber.  He  snatched  the  handkerchief  from  his  face, 
sprang  to  his  feet,  and  dashed  off  at  full  speed  toward 
the  house.  Meantime,  P.  was  calling  out  to  me,  'Look 
yonder !  Look  yonder !  What  is  the  matter  with  Captain 
Shelby?'  and  continued  this  until  the  Captain  reached  the 
house. 

"I  have  already  attempted  to  describe  the  Captain's  style 
of  running.  It  was  the  same  now,  but  in  this  little  'spurt' 
he  exhibited  a  *burst  of  speed'  beyond  anything  he  had 
shown  in  the  morning. 

"It  was  not  long  till  P.  began  to  suspect  that  something 
had  occurred  in  our  hunt  which  we  were  keeping  back. 
His  questions  became  at  last  so  pointed  that  the  Captain 
suspected  me  of  having  told  him  the  history  of  our  ad 
venture.  The  fact  was  that  one  of  the  negroes  had  seen 
me,  in  my  shirt  sleeves,  and  without  my  hat  or  boots,  go 
into  the  stable  and  then  mount  the  gray  horse  and  ride 
away  hurriedly,  leading  the  pony.  This,  and  the  manner 
of  the  Captain,  led  P.  to  suspect  that  something  out  of  the 
way  had  happened.  A  night  or  two  after,  when  the  Captain 
and  I  were  in  our  room,  he  opened  the  subject  by  saying. 
'By  blood,  Joe !  I  can't  carry  this  cursed  secret  about  with 
me  any  longer!  I  know  you  didn't  betray  the  thing  to 
P.;  you  have  said  so,  and  I  know  you  to  be  incapable  of 
an  untruth  or  equivocation.  But  he  knows  it,  or  he  suspects 
it,  and  I  can't  bear  keeping  it  any  longer.  It  begets  in 


102  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

me  a  sense  of  guilt  I  can't  endure.  I'm  going  to  confess ! 
Yes,  I'll  tell  him  all  about  it  to-morrow  morning  at  break 
fast.  Then  I  shall  feel  easy.' 

"'Captain/  said  I,  'hadn't  you  better  let  me  tell  the 
story  ?  I  had  a  better  opportunity  to  observe  things,  being 
up  in  the  tree.' 

"  'No,  sir;  no,  sir;  I'll  be  plagued  if  you  shall.  I  shall 
give  a  plain,  unvarnished  statement  of  the  facts/ 

"  'You'll  just  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  and  be  happy  ?' 

"  'Yes,  sir ;  that's  just  it.  I  feel  happy  already  for  hav 
ing  made  up  my  mind  to  do  this.  You  may  tell  your  part 
of  the  adventure,  if  you  choose,  but  be  careful  not  to  take 
any  liberties  with  mine.' 

"  'Well,  Captain/  I  said,  'since  we  are  about  to  get  into 
the  confessional,  I  want  to  confess  to  you.  I  did  not  see 
the  bear  in  the  cane,  it  was  too  close  for  that,  but  I  heard 
enough  to  be  satisfied  that  she  was  coming,  and  when  I  saw 
you  break  away,  I  follo\ved  as  fast  as  I  could.  I  didn't 
think  I  could  outrun  a  bear ;  at  least,  I  thought  that  ques 
tionable;  but  I  had  no  doubt  of  being  able  to  outrun  you, 
and  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  do  this.  In  fact,  I  believe  that  if  the  road  had  been  a 
narrow  one,  with  room  for  only  one  person,  I  would  have 
run  over  you  to  get  out  of  reach  of  that  bear !  It  has  made 
me  miserable,  thinking  how  mean  and  selfish  this  was!' 

"He  was  listening  to  this  with  a  strange  expression  of 
interest,  and  when  I  concluded  my  confession  he  walked 
up  to  me 'with  glistening  eyes,  and  said:  'Joe,  give  me 
your  hand !  I  was  meaner  than  you !  You  know  when 
you  called  out  to  me,  "0  Captain !"  ?' 

"  'Yes.' 

"  'Well,  by  blood !  I  thought  the  bear  had  you,  and  I 
didn't  stop.  I  believe  I  ran  a  little  faster.  I  don't  think 
I  could  have  stopped  if  my  grandfather  had  been  in  her 
clutches.  Now,  how  ineffably  mean  that  was  in  me!  I 
can't  understand  it !  Why,  I  would  stand  by  you  this  min 
ute,  in  any  fight,  against  any  enemy,  with  any  weapon 
ever  invented  for  the  destruction  of  man  or  beast,  while  I 
have  a  leg  to  stand  on !' 


The  Bear  Hunt  103 

"  'I  know  you  would,  Captain,  and  I  hope  you  think  I 
would  stand  by  you  in  the  same  way.' 

"  'To  be  sure  I  believe  it.  I  know  you  would/  And 
then,  after  a  pause,  he  said:  'I'm  mighty  glad  you  told 
me  of  your  feelings.  My  mean  conduct  has  been  worrying 
me,  but  I  feel  better  now.  Well,  let's  go  to  bed.  In  the 
morning  I  shall  tell  P.  all  about  our  race  and,  as  you  say, 
be  happy.' 

"Next  morning,  at  the  table,  the  Captain  made  a  full 
confession,  telling  the  story  of  our  race  in  a  very  simple, 
amusing  manner,  making  P.  laugh  bjprtily.  That  day  at 
dinner,  P.  alluded  several  times  to  our  race,  as  he  called 
it.  At  supper  he  brought  it  up  again.  He  has  no  tact,  and 
not  much  humor,  and  his  jokes  and  fun  are  of  a  rather 
coarse  fiber,  and  I  could  see  that  he  was  making  himself 
very  disagreeable  to  the  Captain.  It  was  hitting  a  man 
that  was  down.  P.  didn't  see  this,  and  next  day,  when  we 
had  Mr.  Luke  again  at  dinner,  he  launched  out  into  a  full 
account  of  the  affair,  embracing  a  description  of  the  'race 
course/  as  he  called  the  scene  of  our  exploit.  I  saw  a 
storm  gathering  on  the  Captain's  brow,  while  P.  went  on 
unconscious  of  it,  looking  only  at  Luke,  and  himself  chok 
ing  with  laughter.  The  Captain  then  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
P.,  pushing  away  his  plate  and  removing  his  chair  a  little 
way  from  the  table.  P.  caught  his  eye  and  began  to  stam 
mer,  and  soon  came  to  a  dead  stop.  There  was  that  in  the 
face  of  the  old  gentleman  which  no  man  could  look  on  with 
indifference.  Then  the  Captain  arose,  and  in  a  stately 
way  went  out  of  the  room.  It  was  some  time  before  P.  re 
covered  from  the  shock,  when  he  stammered  to  me  apologies 
and  regrets.  I  said  nothing.  I  felt  indignant  at  his  rude 
ness,  and  was  not  sorry  to  have  him  punished  a  little,  but 
I  had  no  idea  that  the  Captain  would  give  him  such  a  spec 
tacle  of  the  Jupiter  Tonans  as  he  did. 

"After  ~we  went  out  of  the  house  P.  walked  with  me 
apart  and  renewed  his  protestations,  and  expressed  the 
keenest  compunction  for  his  thoughtless  conduct.  'Oh, 
never  mind,'  I  said,  'only  be  more  careful  in  future.  You 
see  the  Captain  is  too  good — too  noble,  and  too  old,  to  be 


104  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

treated  in  that  irreverent  way.  I  joke  him  all  the  time,  but 
I  am  his  spoiled  boy,  and  he  rather  likes  it  from  me/ 

"Why,  he  astonished  me!' 

"  'So  I  perceived ;  he  surprised  me  also  a  little.' 

'  'I  always  thought  him  the  kindest,  best-natured  man 
about.' 

"So  he  is,  but  he  won't  be  made  a  butt  of.' 

"After  a  while  I  went  up  to  our  room,  where  I  found 
the  Captain  walking  the  floor,  a  picture  of  woe.  'Joe,'  he 
said,  'am  I  a  cross  man?' 

"  'No,'  I  replied,  'you  are  not  a  cross  man,  but  an  ami 
able  man — a  long  way  above  the  average.' 

"'I  have  been  forty  years  subduing  a  bad  temper,'  he 
said,  'and  here  now  I  break  out  on  this  good,  hospitable 
fellow,  P.,  in  his  own  house,  where  he  is  powerless  to  strike 
back !  I  shall  never  forgive  myself.  What  has  come  over 
me  that  I  can't  take  a  joke,  but  must  fly  off  in  a  passion? 
Dear,  dear !  I  shall  never  forgive  myself !  Where  is  he  ? 
I  want  to  go  right  away  and  ask  his  pardon.  Waugh, 
waugh !  I  am  awfully  down  in  tone.  I  run  away  and 
leave  my  friend  in  danger,  and  insult  my  host  for  a  little 
harmless  pleasantry.  I  would  go  home  to-morrow  if  I 
had  this  thing  settled  with  P.  to  my  satisfaction.  I  will 
ask  his  pardon,  and  beg  him  to  forgive  me.  I  suppose  that 
is  all  I  can  do.  But  I  shall  never  forgive  myself,  never! 
Just  to  think ' 

"  'Well,  now,'  I  said,  interrupting  him,  'I  think  you  take 
too  much  blame  to  yourself.  P.  was  much  to  blame  for 
making  you  a  subject  of  ridicule  in  the  presence  of  a 
stranger,  and  perhaps  you  were  somewhat  too  serious  in 
your  resentment.  If  you  offer  him  an  apology  for  your 
part,  it  will  be  a  fair  settlement.  He  is  full  of  compunc 
tion.' 

"'I  should  like  to  do  it  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Luke. 
Is  he  still  here?' 

"  'No,'  said  I,  lie  has  gone  away ;  but  that  doesn't  mat 
ter.  A  word  from  you  to  P.  will  be  enough.' 

"After  this  talk  the  Captain's  excitement  slowly  sim 
mered  down,  and  when  P.  came  home  they  met  in  front 
of  the  house,  and  the  Captain  made  him  a  speech  which 


The  Bear  Hunt  105 

set  all  right.    I  did  not  hear  what  he  said,  but,  from  the 
window  I  plainly  saw  the  water  in  P.'s  honest,  stupid  eyes. 
"We  stayed  a  week  longer.     P.  soon  let  us  know  that 
while  there  were  plenty  of  bears  in  the  country,  they  were 
not  to  be  killed  by  'still-hunting.'     Then  the  neighbors 
came  together  with  their  dogs,  and  we  had  many  splendid 
chases,  and  killed  a  number  of  bears.     P.  kept  near  the 
Captain,  and  with  that  big  knife  about  which  we  had  dis 
puted,  cut  away  interfering  vines,  and  made  a  clear  path 
for  him.     But  the  sport  was  too  fierce  and  to*o  fatiguing 
for  the  Captain.     After  seeing  a  hard  fight  with  a  bear 
that  had  been  shot  but  not  mortally  hurt,  that  made  havoc 
with  some  of  the  dogs,  and  at  last,  covered  with  blood  and 
foam,  was  killed  by  a  thrust  through  the  heart  with  a  sword 
cane,  he  would  not  go  out  again.    Sitting  in  our  room  that 
night,  he  told  me  that  hereafter  he  would  forego  every  kind 
of  sport  that  involved  the  death  or  torture  of  any  creature. 
He  pitied  even  the  marauding  bears.     I  told  him  that  I 
believed  he  would  next  be  willing  to  join  Burns  in  his 
sympathetic  address  to  Old  Nick,  and  I  repeated  to  him 
the  lines : 

"  'But  fare  you  weel,  auld  Nickie-ben; 
O  wad  ye  tak  a  thought  and  men, 
Ye  aiblins  might— I  dinna  ken — 

Still  hae  a  stake; 
I'm  wae  to  think  upo'  yon  den, 

Even  for  your  sake!' 

"At  this  he  gave  a  little  laugh,  and  nursed  his  knee,  and 
fell  into  serious  meditation.  He  wouldn't  come  down  here 
with  me.  'Go  down,  Joe,  and  tell  them  how  I  beat  you 
running,'  he  said.  'Do  your  best.  Henceforth  I  am  a 
retired  sportsman.  My  record  I  leave  to  the  care  of  my 
friends,  and  to  the  mercy  of  my  enemies,  if  I  have  any.' 

"He  found  at  home  a  great  pile  of  the  newspapers  with 
which  Mr.  Quid  has  always  supplied  him,  and  he  is  now 
busy  reading  himself  up  with  the  news  of  the  day.  He 
was  at  them  early  this  morning.  In  one  he  made  a  dis 
covery  which  he  announced  to  me  with  great  glee.  'Joe,' 
said  he,  'I  have  found  out  what  was  the  matter  with  us  on 
a  certain  occasion  in  our  bear  hunt.  Here  it  is  in  one  word. 


106  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

in  this  newspaper.  I  have  often  met  with  the  word  before, 
used  particularly  in  relation  to  military  affairs — soldiers. 
I  looked  for  it  in  Bailey,  and  in  Johnson,  and  in  Sheridan, 
but  couldn't  find  it  in  any  of  these  dictionaries.  But  the 
meaning  has  now  dawned  on  me.  It  is  the  word  "demoral 
ize/'  Joe,  we  were  demoralized/  And  then  he  laughed 
heartily.  Then  he  added :  'And  here  is  another  new  phrase 
in  the  same  paper.  A  man  has  run  away  with  his  employ 
er's  money,  and  this  transaction  is  here  announced  as  a 
"financial  irregularity/'  Thus  you  see,  by  one  word,  we 
are  taken  out  of  the  category  of  cowardice,  and  by  one 
phrase  this  rogue  out  of  that  of  stealing.  "Verily,"  as 
Master  Shallow  says,  "good  phrases  were  ever,  and  always 
will  be  commendable."  '  He  was  in  great  glee.  Of  course, 
I  answered,  'I  know  not  the  phrase,  but  I  will  maintain 
the  "word"  to  be  a  soldier-like  word,  a  word  of  good  speed 
— a  winged  word,  that  gives  swiftness  to  the  heels/  '; 

"He  wanted  a  bear  skin,  did  he,  to  match  my  panther 
skin?"  said  Mr.  John  Digby.  "Well,  he  shall  have  it.  I 
have  a  fine  one,  with  all  the  claws  and  the  face  on  it, 
dressed  by  the  Delaware  Indians,  and  I  will  send  it  to  him 
for  a  Christmas  gift. 

It  may  be  worth  while  to  say  that  Mr.  John  Digby  did 
send  this  bear  skin  to  Captain  Shelby,  and  that  it  is  still 
preserved  in  the  family  of  one  of  his  descendants.  A 
visitor  to  this  family  may  now  see  it,  and  hear  its  history, 
which  runs  to  the  effect  "that  the  bear  was  killed  by  their 
ancestor,  Captain  James  Shelby,  in  a  hand-to-claw  engage 
ment  in  the  forest. 


CHAPTER  X 

MIGRATORY  BIRDS 

"The  north  wind  blows,  winter  is  nigh; 
Far  upward  in  the  clouded  sky  « 

I  hear  the  murmuring  wings  and  cry 
Of  countless  birds." 

JOHN  D.  and  Buttons  returned  from  Lastlands  in  time 
for  breakfast  and  for  school  on  Monday  morning.  Two 
days  in  the  country,  while  the  theater  was  about  to  be 
opened  in  town,  was  enough  for  Buttons.  In  summer,  when 
the  theater  should  be  closed,  and  the  circus  away  on  its 
circuit  through  the  country,  he  might  go  there  again,  but 
"no  more  at  present"  for  him.  Nor  did  John  D.  give  a 
cheerful  account  of  Lastlands.  The  household  was  busy 
all  the  time,  arranging  the  furniture  in  the  house;  the 
fishing  season  was  over  (though  old  Adam  still  caught 
some  "buffaloes"),  and  Uncle  Rob  kept  in  force  an  old 
rule  of  the  grandfather  forbidding  shooting  within  half 
a  mile  of  the  house.  There  were  many  ducks  there,  but 
the  ripple  was  their  chief  place  of  resort,  and  this  was 
within  the  prescribed  limit.  There  were  plenty  of  pigeons 
in  the  great  woods,  and  many  squirrels,  but  there  were 
no  guns  at  Lastlands,  except  a  rifle  and  an  old  musket 
belonging  to  his  grandfather's  herdsman,  Kirby,  now  re 
turned  there,  and  these  were  too  heavy.  At  no  time,  he 
believed,  was  sport  to  be  had  at  Lastlands  comparable  to 
that  afforded  by  the  falls. 

John  D.,  as  has  been  stated,  was  an  ardent  sportsman. 
He  had  his  special  crony  for  this  diversion,  Master  William 
Bradstreet  ("Old  B.,"  John  D.  called  him),  a  stout,  big- 
nosed  youth,  the  son  of  a  sad-eyed  widow  who  had  come 
to  The  Falls  years  before  and  set  up  a  store  for  the  sale 
of  domestic  goods,  but  of  whose  history  little  was  ever 

107 


108  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

known.  "Old  B."  was  the  younger  of  her  two  sons,  both 
of  whom  went  to  the  same  classical  school  with  John  D. 
In  the  fall,  while  the  river  was  low,  and  the  islands  of  the 
falls  accessible  by  wading,  these  lads  spent  most  of  their 
holidays  there.  The  diversity  of  sport  afforded,  and  the 
variety  of  scenery,  and  especially  the  many  forms  in  which 
water,  that  most  beautiful  element,  is  exhibited  on  the 
falls,  and  that  Crusoe  feature,  the  islands,  made  this 
region  attractive  above  all  others  to  the  young  sportsmen. 
Every  variety  of  fishes  known  to  the  Ohio  valley  was  there 
found  in  abundance:  bass  and  pike-perch  (the  salmon  of 
the  Ohio),  and  rock-bass,  and  bachelor,  or  silver-perch,  a 
favorite  pan-fish,  common  to  all  the  streams,  but  nowhere 
BO  beautiful  as  in  the  clear  water  of  the  Ohio.  There,  free 
from  the  dark  spots  with  which  it  is  flecked  in  the  mill 
ponds  and  small  streams,  it  shines  like  polished  metal,  and 
seems  a  veritable  silver  perch.  There  were  also  great  blue 
catfish,  which,  resistless,  often  swept  away  all  their  tackle. 
The  shooting  was  also  excellent  on  the  falls.  The  pas 
senger  pigeons  were  not  the  only  birds  that  visited  this 
region  in  great  force.  N"o  others  came  in  such  prodigious 
numbers,  but  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  when  the  migratory 
birds  make  their  flight  from  north  to  south,  many  of 
these,  pausing  to  rest,  were  to  be  found  in  all  suitable  feed 
ing  grounds.  At  night  the  upper  air  was  filled  with  them. 
This  was  plainly  revealed  when  the  town  was  first  lighted 
by  oil  lamps  fixed  on  the  tops  of  cedar  posts  along  the  side 
walks.  It  chanced  to  be  a  cloudy  night,  the  wind  por 
tending  a  storm,  and  the  birds  in  the  air  above  were  greatly 
perplexed  by  this  illumination.  Coming  from  the  far 
wilderness  of  the  Northwest,  from  the  then  Ultima  Thule, 
the  Lake  of  the  Woods,  and  that  farther  region  then  little 
known,  but,  as  we  now  know,  dotted  all  over  with  crystal 
lakes ;  over  the  forests  and  prairies  of  Wisconsin  and  Illi 
nois  and  Indian  Territory;  seeing  in  their  long  flight  no 
trace  of  man,  save  the  sparse  teepees  of  Indians  and  the 
scattered  settlements  of  frontiersmen ;  when  this  town,  The 
Falls  (great  affair  as  it  was  to  its  inhabitants),  was  to 
these  aerial  voyagers  only  a  bald  patch  in  the  forest,  unno 
ticed  by  day,  and  unseen  at  night — they  had  passed  over 


Migratory  Birds  109 

it  in  silent  flight.  But  when  this  illumination  of  the  streets 
was  made,  when  these  "fringes  of  lamplight,  stretching 
upward  many  fathoms  into  the  ancient  reign  of  night," 
came  in  view,  they  gave  voice  to  surprise,  and  perhaps 
alarm,  by  loud  and  continuous  clamor.  The  streets  were 
full  of  people  viewing  the  new  lights,  and  they  hearkened 
with  wonder  to  the  sounds  that  came  from  the  upper  air : 
the  resonant  honk  of  wild  geese,  the  harsh  croon  of 
the  sandhill  crane  (like  a  giant  gritting  his  teeth),  the 
loud  wild  notes  of  curlews,  the  clear  wavering  whistle  of 
winter  yellowlegs,  and  the  piping  and  peeping  of  innumer 
able  birds  unrecognized,  filled  the  clouded  firmament.  The 
eyes  of  the  people  were  turned  to  the  sky,  but  nothing 
could  be  seen  of  the  throngs  which  seemed  to  circle  about, 
bewildered  by  the  strange  lights.  Suddenly  upon  the  new 
tin  roof  of  a  warehouse  there  fell  with  a  loud  thump  some 
object  from  the  upper  air,  quickly  followed  by  the  well- 
known  quack  of  a  mallard  duck  flying  away  in  the  dark 
ness.  Then  all  knew  that  the  bird,  mistaking  the  shining 
tin  for  water,  had  thrown  herself  upon  it.  Most  of  these 
birds  have  their  habitat  far  away  along  the  seaboard  of 
the  South,  and  their  presence  about  the  falls  was  due 
solely  to  stress  of  weather;  alighting  to  lie  by,  as  ships 
at  sea,  until  the  storm  should  pass  away.  On  every  tem 
pestuous  night  they  were  rained  down  in  countless  numbers, 
and  during  the  whole  of  the  season  of  migration  the  north 
west  winds  literally  "creaked  with  the  weight  of  birds/' 

But  fishing  was  the  chief  sport  of  these  lads.  They  did 
indeed  pursue  the  plovers,  and  winter  yellowlegs,  and  the 
various  tribes  of  small  delicate-footed  waders,  but  this  was 
a  mere  accessory  to  the  main  sport,  fishing.  They  were 
but  poorly  equipped  for  shooting.  John  D.  had  a  rifle, 
but  that  was  impracticable  for  the  falls.  Their  only  avail 
able  gun  was  an  ancient  firearm  belonging  to  Bradstreet, 
an  ancestral  piece  brought  from  Massachusetts,  an  arm  that, 
like  its  owners,  seemed  to  have  known  better  days  and  to 
have  undergone  serious  metamorphoses.  It  was  now  a 
composite  weapon.  The  barrel  seemed  to  have  belonged 
to  what  must  have  been  in  its  day  a  fine  gun.  It  was 
inlaid  with  gold,  and  bore  in  golden  letters  the  legend, 


110  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"London,"  and  the  name  of  the  maker,  well-nigh  worn 
away,  and  now  illegible.  The  barrel  was  probably  all  that 
was  left  of  the  original  London  gun.  The  stock  was  plainly 
of  domestic  manufacture.  The  touchhole,  from  long  use, 
was  so  enlarged  that  upon  every  discharge  a  stream  of 
fire  issued  from  it,  by  which,  on  one  occasion,  when  John 
D.  fired  it,  and  Bradstreet  stood  by  within  range  of  the 
touchhole,  his  eyebrows  and  roach  were  badly  singed. 

Armed  with  this  weapon,  and  with  an  abundant  supply 
of  provisions  and  fishing  tackle,  John  D.  and  Bradstreet 
were  pretty  sure  every  Saturday,  during  the  low  water,  to 
go  on  an  expedition  "to  the  falls.  Bond,  another  friend 
and  classmate  of  John  D.,  and  his  literary  crony,  once 
joined  them,  but  not  being  a  born  sportsman,  he  soon 
grew  tired  of  the  islands,  and  slipping  on  the  ooze,  and 
getting  a  ducking,  went  back  home  before  the  day  was  half 
over.  But  John  D.  and  "Old  B.,"  though  they  often  slipped 
on  the  ooze  and  got  ducked,  never  grew  weary  of  the  falls. 
If  the  sport  failed,  as  in  the  early  fall  it  sometimes  did, 
when  their  expedition  was  premature,  and  the  fish  refused 
to  bite,  and  the  game  was  scarce,  they  delighted  to  explore 
the  islands  in  all  their  recesses — gathering  the  flocky  grass, 
soft  as  down,  that  grew  in  the  sandy  alluvial,  and  making 
beds  of  this ;  and  speculating  upon  the  specimens  of  grain, 
Indian  corn  and  oats,  sown  by  chance,  and  sprouting  there 
in  the  barren  sand  only  to  show  a  brief  fruitless  life;  and 
wondering  over  the  various  fossil  remains,  brain-coral,  and 
chain-coral,  and  encrinites,  visible  everywhere  in  these  an 
cient  rocks. 

These  lads  had  peculiar  facilities  for  access  to  the  islands, 
afforded  by  Hare  (a  tenant  of  John  D.'s  father),  a  dealer 
in  boats,  whose  shop  was  near  the  Basin,  and  who  gladly 
gave  them  the  use  of  his  skiffs  to  cross  to  Corn  Island, 
whence  they  waded  across  the  wide,  shallow  channel  to 
Goose  Island.  Often  their  sport  was  continued  till  a  late 
hour,  and  night  came  before  they  quitted  the  falls.  Then 
the  hearts  of  the  mothers  at  home  grew  anxious.  John 
D.'s  mother  was  sure  on  these  occasions  to  pace  the  floor, 
sending  often  to  the  kitchen,  where  the  young  sportsman 
always  went  first  with  the  spoil,  to  know  if  he  had  come; 


Migratory  Birds  111 

then,  as  the  hour  grew  later,  going  to  the  rear  windows, 
which  looked  out  upon  the  river,  to  see  there  only  the 
darkness  that  brooded  over  the  water,  and  to  hear  what 
seemed  to  her  apprehensive  heart  a  hungry  and  ominous 
roar  from  the  falls,  swelling  yet  louder  as  the  night  ad 
vanced.  Then  the  father  would  say :  "You  have  no  reason 
for  anxiety.  There  is  no  uncommon  danger  on  the  falls 
in  low  water.  He  is  as  safe  there  as  here  on  the  streets. 
We  must  not  try  to  keep  him  from  the  ordinary  perils  of 
life.  It  won't  do  to  tie  boys  to  your  apron  string.  He 
stays  late  because  the  birds  come  to  the  island  at  night 
fall.  When  Buttons  has  another  year  we  shall  have  to  let 
him  go  over  with  John  D."  And  then  the  lad  would  come, 
and  the  mother's  heart  would  be  at  ease  until  the  next  like 
occasion,  when  the  same  maternal  woes  would  be  renewed. 
Buttons,  it  may  be  well  to  state,  had  long  desired  to  join 
his  brother  and  Bradstreet  in  their  expeditions.  Through 
his  father's  glass  he  had  often  viewed  the  falls,  when  Goose 
Island,  far  away  among  the  tossing  waves,  had  seemed 
to  him 

"Like  some  enchanted  far-off  isle 
In  some  tumultuous  sea." 

But  going  there  once,  and  slipping  on  the  ooze,  and  get 
ting  ducked  as  Bond  had  been,  he  had  no  desire  to  go  again, 
preferring  thereafter  the  "sweet  security  of  the  streets/' 

When  the  river  rose  and  Goose  Island  was  no  longer 
accessible  by  wading,  these  lads  laid  aside  their  fishing 
tackle  and  betook  themselves  heartily  to  their  books.  Then 
Bond  became  the  especial  crony  of  John  D.,  while  Brad- 
street  suffered  a  partial  eclipse,  their  companionship  con 
fined  to  an  occasional  foray  in  the  woods  with  the  old  fusil 
and  the  rifle.  Thus  these  lads  had  their  busy  season  and 
their  season  of  leisure,  as  their  elders  had,  all  dependent 
upon  the  rising  of  the  river,  as  Egypt  upon  the  rising  of 
the  Nile. 

Of  Bond  and  John  D.  the  relations  were  in  one  respect 
so  peculiar  that  it  becomes  proper  to  state  them  here. 
Though  classmates,  intimates,  cronies,  friends,  they  were 
accustomed,  almost  as  often  as  once  a  month,  to  fight! 
Bond  was  the  better  Greek  scholar,  while  John  D.,  though 


112  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

inferior  in  size,  was  stronger  and  more  active  than  Bond. 
John  D.  harbored  no  jealousy  of  Bond's  Greek  scholarship, 
while  Bond  did  harbor  the  liveliest  jealousy  of  John  D.'s 
strength  and  agility.  Often  Bond  challenged  him  to  trials, 
which,  begun  in  sport,  warmed  into  serious  battles.  These 
occurred  so  often  that  a  fight  between  these  cronies  came 
to  be  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  stated  diversions  of  the 
school.  Yet  they  caused  no  permanent  estrangement.  John 
D.  always  got  the  best  of  these  affairs,  but  would  never 
push  his  advantage,  and  Bond,  seeing  this,  would  give  in, 
and  often  after  a  fight  they  quitted  the  field  together,  arm- 
in-arm. 

The  society  of  The  Falls  did  not  lack  the  civilizing  influ 
ence  of  religion.  There  had  been  a  period  in  its  history 
when  in  this  regard  its  condition  was  deplorable;  when 
playing-cards  brought  extravagant  prices,  while  Bibles  were 
hardly  salable  at  any  figure ;  when  the  booksellers,  in  order 
to  get  off  their  overstock  of  Bibles,  required  every  purchaser 
of  a  dozen  packs  of  cards  to  buy  also  a  Bible.  But  this 
unhappy  state  had  long  passed  away.  There  were  now 
organizations  of  Methodists,  Baptists,  Presbyterians,  Roman 
Catholics  and  Episcopalians,  with  substantial  church  build 
ings  and  fairly  full  congregations,  and  a  great  deal  of 
religious  zeal.  But  religious  zeal,  with  all  its  good  influ 
ence  in  every  society,  is  not  without  its  ill  effects.  No 
partisan  is  so  blind  as  a  partisan  in  religion,  and  no  enmity 
is  so  fierce  and  bitter  as  religious  enmity.  These  are  trite 
truths,  and  need  not  be  enforced  by  any  reference  to  the 
wars  made  and  the  blood  spilled  because  of  a  difference  in 
religious  faith.  The  Falls  was  not  without  its  sacred  ani 
mosities.  While  there  were  no  overt  quarrels  between  the 
members  of  the  several  denominations,  there  was  a  plain 
line  of  demarkation  between  them,  especially  those  that 
adhered  to  the  Church  of  England  and  the  Calvinists.  The 
adherents  of  the  Roman  Church,  the  weakest  in  point  of 
wealth  and  numbers,  were  so  modest  and  unobtrusive,  both 
priests  and  people,  that  they  drew  little  attention,  though 
regarded  then  as  little  better  than  idolators.  An  occasional 
blast  from  the  other  pulpits  was  all  that  was  thought  neces 
sary  as  to  them.  Whatever  pulpit  wars  arose  were  between 


Migratory  Birds  113 

the  Calvinists  and  "the  Church,"  as  the  Episcopalians 
distinctively  called  their  organization. 

In  the  discussions  among  laymen  Mr.  Ould  was  at  all 
times  a  staunch  champion  of  "the  Church,"  thoroughly 
informed  of  its  history  and  its  literature,  and  able  to  do 
battle  in  its  behalf  against  all  comers.  He  had  made  also 
special  studies  of  its  distinguished  prelates,  collecting  with 
care  the  events  and  transactions  of  their  lives ;  correspond 
ing  to  this  end  with  recognized  authorities  at  home  and 
abroad,  and  collating  information  until  he  had  formed  a 
complete  conception  of  each  subject  of  study.  In  the  gen 
eral  convention  of  the  Church  where  he  was  often  promi 
nent  in  the  discussion  of  important  questions,  he  surprised 
the  learned  clericals  by  his  intimate  knowledge  of  the  great 
lights  of  the  Church  in  the  past,  and  by  the  force  and 
aptness  with  which  he  cited  their  conduct  or  quoted  their 
opinions.  Above  them  all — above  even  Jeremy  Taylor  and 
Hales — stood  in  the  estimation  of  Mr.  Ould,  Robert  Leigh- 
ton,  Archbishop  of  Glasgow.  As  Mclntyre  made  a  military 
hobby  of  Alexander  the  Great,  so  Mr.  Ould  made  a  clerical 
hobby  of  Archbishop  Leigh  ton.  Liberal  himself,  and  toler 
ant  of  all  honest  differences  of  opinion,  he  delighted  to 
quote  the  opinion  of  those  prelates  in  the  support  of  private 
judgment,  and  to  show  their  wide  charity.  Perhaps  some 
veteran  churchman  still  living  may  remember  with  what 
force  in  a  convention  he  related  of  Leighton,  that  a  friend 
calling  to  see  him,  and  finding  him  away  from  home, 
learned  that  he  had  gone  to  the  country  to  visit  a  sick 
Presbyterian  minister,  riding  a  horse  borrowed  of  a  Eoman 
priest.  "This  spirit  of  tolerance,  and  this  respect  for  the 
right  of  private  judgment,"  he  would  say,  when  on  this 
topic,  "with  the  strong  voice  conceded  to  the  laity  in  its 
councils,  have  kept  the  Church  in  close  and  intimate  con 
nection  with  its  people,  and  abreast  with  every  advance 
in  knowledge,  and  have  preserved  it  from  that  sullen  isola 
tion  from  man  in  the  ordinary  relations  of  life — in  his 
business,  his  family,  and  his  innocent  pleasures — which 
is  apt  to  grow  up  in  religious  associations ;  and  have  made 
within  its  fold  the  worship  of  God  indeed  perfect  freedom." 

But  while  Mr.  Robert  Ould  was  a  zealous  and  able  lay 


114  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

champion  of  the  Church,  there  were  not  wanting  some  that 
violently  assailed  it,  both  clericals  and  laymen.  Puritan 
ism,  surviving  in  Calvinism,  was  here,  as  of  old,  its  fierce 
and  implacable  foe;  that  did  not  give  it  credit  even  for 
"Protestantism,"  but  confounding  it  with  the  Church  of 
Eome,  applied  to  both  the  same  opprobrious  cant  names. 
Sermons  in  which  the  Church  was  directly  assailed  were 
not  unusual,  and  a  case  of  a  convert  from  them  to  the 
Church  was  sure  to  be  followed  by  a  furious  onslaught. 

"And  pulpit  drum  ecclesiastic 
Was  beat  with  fist  instead  of  a  stick." 

This  asperity  between  the  churches  (now  happily  worn 
away)  had  an  evil  effect:  separating  the  community  in  their 
social  relations,  interfering  by  factitious  incompatibilities 
with  the  tenderest  relations  of  life,  and  even  entering  the 
schools,  and  becoming  there  a  cause  of  alienation  and  quar 
rels  among  the  boys.  It  was  now  the  direct  cause  of  a 
quarrel  and  fight  between  John  D.  and  his  conventional  foe, 
Bond.  Hitherto  theirs  had  been  in  a  great  degree  per 
functory  battles,  half  amicable  trials  of  pluck  and  skill; 
always  provoked  by  Bond ;  without  malice,  after  which  they 
could  shake  hands  and  be  friends,  regarding  each  other 
as  Sir  Philip  Sidney  regarded  "that  sweet  enemy,  France." 
TBut  in  the  instance  about  to  be  related  the  ground  of  quar 
rel  was  of  a  grave  character,  and  the  fight  a  fierce  one,  in 
which  Bond  was  summarily  beaten.  It  occurred  in  recess, 
was  unpremeditated,  without  seconds,  the  only  witnesses 
being  some  small  boys,  who,  shocked  by  its  ferocity,  ran 
with  pale  faces  to  spread  the  news  through  the  school. 

At  the  end  of  the  recess  Bond  entered  the  schoolroom 
with  one  eye  closed  and  a  face  like  a  pudding;  but  he 
walked  as  usual,  with  head  erect,  past  the  master  to  his 
seat,  the  boys  all  sitting  with  wide  eyes  and  ears  erect. 
The  old  master  stared  with  wonder  at  Bond's  face,  and 
said: 

"Why,  Bond,  what  is  the  matter  with  your  face?" 

"I've  had  a  fight  with  Digby,"  he  replied,  in  a  clear 
voice. 

"Why,  Digby,"  said  the  master,  turning  to  that  youth, 


Migratory  Birds  115 

now  very  busy  with  his    slate,  "you   must  be  a  regular 
bruiser." 

And  there  the  matter  ended  for  the  time. 

Next  day  it  was  known  in  the  school  that  on  his  way 
home  Bond  had  been  jeered  about  his  face  by  some  boys 
of  a  rival  school;  that  a  quarrel  had  ensued,  and  that  on 
the  following  Saturday  Bond  was  engaged  to  fight  one 
of  these  boys  in  a  pitched  battle.  This  caused  unusual 
excitement,  and  furnished  to  the  school  matter  for  earnest 
discussion  and  speculation  during  the  week.  Meantime, 
Bond  and  John  D.  kept  apart.  This  was  observed  by  the 
old  master,  who,  though  he  had  never  in  the  past  interfered 
with  the  quarrels  of  these  lads,  yet,  seeing  them  stand  so 
long  apart,  now  resolved  to  bring  them  together.  Accord 
ingly,  he  sent  to  each  of  them  a  note  bidding  him  to  come 
to  his  room  at  nine  o'clock  on  Saturday.  But  as  Saturday 
morning  was  the  appointed  time  for  Bond's  fight,  neither 
of  them  so  much  as  thought  of  obeying  this  summons. 

After  the  fight  John  D.  went  to  the  room  of  the  old 
master,  who  had  then  but  just  heard  of  this  affair.  Indif 
ferent  as  he  had  always  seemed  to  the  fighting  among  his 
own  boys,  he  was  now  greatly  excited  about  this. 

"You  were  out  at  the  fight  ?"  he  eagerly  asked  John  D. 

"Yes,  sir;  I  was  there." 

"You  and  Bond  had  not  made  friends  yesterday?" 

"No,  sir." 

"You  wanted  him  to  win,  though?" 

"Yes,  sir;  of  course  I  did." 

"Who  seconded  Bond?" 

"I  did." 

"You  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  You  had  not  made  friends." 

"No,  sir;  not  until  the  fight  was  about  to  begin." 

"Well,  now,  how  did  that  come  about  ?  Tell  me  all  about 
it — come !" 

"When  I  went  on  the  ground  Stewart  was  his  second, 
went  first  among  the  boys  of  the  other  school,  because  I 
wanted  to  get  a  good  look  at  their  man  while  they  were  get 
ting  him  ready.  While  standing  there  I  saw  Bond  looking 
at  me  with  such  a  sorrowful  face,  that  I  thought  he  was 
hurt  at  seeing  me  stand  with  the  other  side,  and  then  I 


116  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

went  back  to  his  side.  Then  Stewart  came  to  me  and  said 
he  wished  I  was  Bond's  second.  'But/  said  he,  'you  don't 
speak.'  'No/  I  said,  'but  if  I  thought  Bond  wanted  me  I 
should  like  to  be  his  second/  Then  Stewart  went  quickly 
over  to  Bond,  and  came  back  and  told  me  that  Bond  did 
want  me,  and  then  I  went  to  him  and  offered  myself." 

"Ah!    What  did  he  say  to  that— hey?" 

"He  didn't  say  anything.  He  only  gripped  my  hand,  but 
I  knew  by  that  grip  that  he  was  going  to  win." 

The  old  master  began  now  pacing  back  and  forth  in  his 
slippers,  over  the  floor,  whimpering  or  laughing  in  that 
peculiar  way  of  his,  as  much  like  crying  as  laughing.  Sud 
denly  turning  to  John  D.,  and  shaking  his  hand  with  the 
palm  toward  him,  he  said :  "JSTo  particulars  now,  no  par- 
.ticulars,  mind — but — was  it  a  hard  fight?" 

"Yes,  sir;  a  pretty  hard  fight." 

"But  Bond  won?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

And  then  Bond,  with  a  bandaged  head,  entered  the  room. 

As  the  boys  quietly  clasped  hands,  and  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes,  the  old  master  glided  into  an  adjoining  room, 
but  quickly  came  back,  saying  in  an  angry  voice :  "Clear 
out,  now,  you  bad,  fighting  boys,  and  let  me  hear  of  no 
more  fighting,  else  I  shall  take  a  hand  myself — away  with 
you !  You  are  more  trouble  to  me  than  all  my  money." 

And  both  boys  laughing  heartily,  he  hustled  them  out. 

And  now  what  does  the  reader  suppose  was  the  cause 
of  the  fierce  fight  between  these  boys  ?  Only  this :  Bond, 
in  speaking  of  the  Church,  had  called  it  the  "scarlet  woman 
of  Babylon."  John  D.  was  heartily  laughed  at  by  his  father 
and  others  for  his  Quixotism,  but  long  after  was  heard  to 
say  that  he  had  never  been  so  stung  by  any  offensive  words 
as  by  that  opprobrious  name  applied  to  "his  mother's 
Church." 

The  friendship  of  these  lads  was  never  again  interrupted, 
and  one  of  the  periodical  incidents  of  the  school,  a  fight 
between  Bond  and  John  D.,  was  at  an  end.  Thenceforth 
in  the  higher  Greek  class,  made  up  of  these  two  only,  they 
sat  together,  and  together  went  through  the  ponderous  col 
lection  of  Greek  literature  entitled  Grseca  Majora:  Bond 


Migratory  Birds  117 

distinguishing  himself  for  uncommon  accuracy  in  the  gram 
mar,  and  John  D.  for  what  the  old  master  called  "a  quick 
perception  of  meaning,  and  a  happy  facility  in  translation/' 
Side  by  side  they  recited  their  lessons,  and  often  with  arms 
extended  over  each  other,  conned  them;  knit  together  by 
the  purest  and  warmest  friendship,  the  friendship  of  youth, 
happily  compared  to  "Love,  without  his  wings  and  arrows." 
But  while  thus  associated  in  study,  they  were  now  seldom 
joined  in  their  amusements.  The  strict  discipline  in  which 
Bond  had  been  trained  forbade,  as  a  part  of  the  "world" 
which  it  was  a  duty  to  give  up,  the  idle  diversions  of  fish 
ing  and  shooting,  to  which  John  D.  was  addicted.  As  for 
the  circus  and  the  theater,  these  were  a  part  of  the  enginery 
of  the  Devil,  his  spring-traps  and  dead-falls.  The  fighting 
had  been  readily  condoned  at  home,  it  being  easy  to  find 
in  Puritan  history  precedents  for  that,  especially  with  a 
"malignant,"  as  John  D.  was  considered  to  be.  Happy 
John  D.,  to  have  two  such  cronies,  one  for  the  school  and 
the  study,  and  another  for  the  wildwoods  and  the  falls! 
Both  were  very  dear  to  him,  but  Bond  was  the  dearer. 


CHAPTEE  XI- 

THE  THEATER 

"  Tis  sweet  to  view,  at  half-past  five  or  six, 
Our  long  wax  candles,  with  short  cotton  wicks, 
Touched  by  the  lamplighter's  Promethean  art, 
Start  into  light,  and  make  the  lighter  start." 

A  FONDNESS  for  shows,  natural  to  all  mankind,  was  early 
evinced  by  the  people  of  The  Falls,  and  had  been  quick 
ened  and  cultivated,  as  has  been  stated,  by  private  theatri 
cals.  In  1818,  when  the  old  weather-beaten  theater  had 
been  torn  away  to  give  place  to  a  new  building  of  larger 
dimensions,  the  interval  had  been  filled  by  the  reorganiza 
tion  of  the  private  theatrical  corps.  At  the  time  of  which 
we  now  speak,  this  new  theater  had  been  again  closed  for 
repairs,  and  the  only  diversion  afforded  the  public  was  the 
circus,  or  an  occasional  itinerant  show.  The  Falls  public 
was  impatiently  awaiting  the  opening  of  the  theater.  The 
dramatic  corps  of  Mr.  Drake,  brought  at  an  early  day  from 
England,  was  made  up  mainly  of  members  of  his  own 
family.  These  were  all  good  actors,  and  two  of  them,  Mr. 
A.  Drake,  a  comedian,  and  his  wife,  a  tragic  actress,  were 
highly  distinguished  in  their  day.  The  management  of 
this  theater  was  in  all  respects  upon  the  most  liberal  scale. 
Not  only  in  such  bright  accessories  as  chandeliers  and  wax 
candles  was  it  abreast  with  the  great  metropolitan  thea 
ters,  but  in  some  respects  in  advance  of  these.  In  the 
comedy,  or  after-piece,  which  then  always  followed  the 
tragedy,  if  there  was  occasion  to  put  upon  the  stage  a  table 
and  eatables  for  a  convivial  scene,  it  was  never  attempted 
by  wooden  joints  or  wooden  fowls,  or  colored  water  resemb 
ling  wine,  or  other  simulacra,  to  mock  the  audience  and 
the  actors  by  the  bare  semblance  of  a  feast,  but  real  joints 

118 


The  Theater  119 

or  real  fowls  and  real  wine  were  set  forth ;  the  egg-dressing 
plainly  visible  on  the  cold  fowl,  and  the  popping  of  real 
corks  and  the  gurgle  of  real  wine  audible  through  the 
house.  This  honest  treatment  of  the  drama  improved  both 
the  scene  and  the  acting.  But  the  effect  upon  the  audi 
ence  was  not  in  all  respects  a  happy  one.  People,  when 
sitting  up  beyond  their  usual  hour  for  bed,  get  hungry, 
and  to  see  then  other  people  feasting  is  sure  to  whet  their 
hunger.  This  was  a  harvest  time  for  the  theater  refectory. 
It  was  noticeable  that  always,  after  one  of  these  scenes,  the 
demand  for  cakes  and  comfits  was  very  great  among  the 
younger  portion  of  the  audience,  and  among  the  ladies,  and 
the  house  was  odorous  of  orange-peeling.  But  to  the 
rougher  sex,  which  constituted  always  the  larger  part  of 
the  audience,  the  sight  of  this  stage  wassail  imparted  such 
a  rasping  appetite  as  was  not  to  be  appeased  by  cakes  and 
comfits.  These  and  the  oranges  were  rejected  by  them  in 
a  huff,  and  they  impatiently  sat  out  the  after-piece,  and 
then  rushed  out  and  away  to  the  popular  cookshop  of  the 
town,  in  quest  of  a  more  solid  repast.  There  were  not 
wanting  persons  of  a  suspicious  temper  to  assert  that  these 
appetizing  scenes  were  contrived  between  the  theatrical 
management  and  the  wily  publican  of  the  cookshop,  and 
that  the  liberal  stage  repasts  were  gratuitously  furnished 
by  him,  with  a  view  to  the  profit  thus  indirectly  derived. 
This  chronicler  knows  nothing  as  to  the  truth  of  this,  but 
thinks  that  both  theatrical  managers  and  publicans  may 
find  a  valuable  hint  in  the  facts. 

Mr.  Drake  had  now  announced  that  he  would  reopen, 
with  his  fine  company,  "The  Falls  Theater."  The  house 
had  been  newly  painted  and  decorated,  and  supplied  with 
new  furniture  and  new  scenery.  Soon  the  night  was  ap 
pointed  for  the  reopening,  and  announced  by  placards  in  all 
public  places.  The  opening  night  came  at  last,  when  the 
house  was  filled  from  pit  to  gallery.  The  old  motto  over 
the  proscenium,  Veluti  in  Speculum,  had  been  regilded,  the 
walls  handsomely  frescoed,  the  hangings  and  curtains  and 
the  ornamental  woodwork  being  of  crimson  and  gold.  On 
each  wing  hung  large  chandeliers  studded  with  wax  can 
dles  ;  others  of  smaller  size  being  grouped  along  the  circles 


120  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

of  the  first  and  second  tiers  of  boxes.  Lamplighters  came 
with  slender  ladders,  upon  which  they  mounted,  and  touch 
ing  the  wicks  saturated  with  turpentine,  the  house  was  at 
once  in  a  blaze  of  light.  Then  as  the  orchestra  strikes 
up  a  patriotic  air,  the  green  baize  curtain  rolls  up,  revealing 
a  new  and  beautiful  scene — "Pocahontas  saving  the  life 
of  Captain  John  Smith."  The  house  thunders  with  ap 
plause  from  pit  to  gallery,  and  radiates  with  the  light  of 
hundreds  of  bright  eyes  and  happy  faces.  Bright  eyes  are 
also  seen  peeping  from  behind  the  scenes,  and  the  people 
are  pleased  to  know  that  glad  faces  are  there  as  well  as 
in  front. 

Mr.  Drake's  theater  was  one  of  the  fixed  institutions  of 
the  town,  in  which  all  took  great  pride.  No  company  of 
players  ever  received  a  heartier  ovation.  Two  new  players 
had  been  added  to  the  company,  and  the  romantic  dramas 
then  popular  were  put  on  the  stage  with  new  strength.  The 
public  did  not  tire  of  their  performances.  In  fact,  there 
grew  up  with  the  revival  of  the  theater  a  dramatic  mania, 
threatening  bad  results.  Two  or  three  prominent  young 
business  men,  stage-struck,  proposed  to  give  up  their  places 
in  business  and  put  on  the  sock  or  buskin;  but  were  re 
strained  by  the  remonstrances  of  their  friends  and  the  firm 
dissuasion  of  the  elder  Drake.  This  mania  spread  in  a  mild 
form  in  all  directions;  the  actor's  vocation  rose  in  public 
esteem;  people  repeated  the  story  of  the  great  Napoleon 
having  taken  lessons  from  Talma.  John  D.'s  old  school 
master  put  his  whole  school,  big  and  little,  into  one  class 
in  elocution,  a  branch  before  ignored  by  him.  "Parts" 
were  assigned,  and  a  day  appointed  for  exercise  by  the  whole 
school  in  declamation. 

The  ample  stores  of  material  for  practice  in  elocution, 
furnished  now,  were  then  unknown  at  The  Falls,  and  the 
scholar  was  dependent  for  his  part  on  the  teacher.  A  few 
hackneyed  pieces,  time  out  of  mind  the  property  of  the 
forward  small  boy,  were  ready  at  hand,  but  for  boys  of 
fifteen,  like  John  D.  and  Bradstreet,  it  was  not  easy  to 
provide  suitable  material.  From  many  sources  the  old 
master  brought  together  a  mass  of  elocutionary  matter, 
which  he  undertook  to  distribute  among  the  scholars,  ac- 


The  Theater  121 

cording  to  age  or  apparent  faculty  for  declamation.  These 
were  read  over  to  the  school  with  a  view  to  allow  some 
discretion  in  the  scholar,  but  it  was  soon  apparent  that 
this  plan  would  be  impracticable;  for  when  the  speeches 
of  Colonel  Barre  and  the  Earl  of  Chatham  were  read  they 
were  wanted  by  all.  So  the  master  at  last  assigne,d,  arbi 
trarily,  to  each  boy  his  part.  They  that  failed  to  get  Colo 
nel  Barre  or  the  Earl  of  Chatham,  contented  themselves 
with  Patrick  Henry,  and  that  part  of  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  in  which  the  enormities  of  King  George  are 
enumerated.  Anything  pleased,  if  it  only  contained  good 
"digs"  at  the  British.  The  hostile  feeling  engendered  by 
the  war  still  subsisted.  The  popular  heart  had  not  con 
doned  the  burning  of  the  books  and  archives  at  Washing 
ton  by  Admiral  Cochrane,  and  that  vile  watchword  at  New 
Orleans,  "Beauty  and  Booty,"  still  made  the  blood  to 
curdle. 

The  following  Friday  was  appointed  for  declamation; 
meantime,  the  boys  were  exhorted  to  study  and  practice 
their  parts.  Some  were  shy  and  could  not  be  got  to  show 
up  in  rehearsal,  while  others  did  not  hesitate  to  get  up 
and  "speak"  whenever  an  audience  could  be  had.  Bond, 
who  had  taken  from  Sallust  Cassar's  speech  in  behalf  of 
Catiline,  was  eager  at  all  times  to  speak. 

The  day  came  at  last  for  declamation.  It  was  Friday, 
and  the  master  dismissed  the  school  at  an  early  hour  in 
the  forenoon,  enjoining  every  boy  to  be  in  his  seat  at  three 
o'clock  P.  M.,  dressed  in  his  best  bib  and  tucker.  Promptly 
at  that  hour  every  boy,  in  holiday  attire,  was  in  his  seat. 
The  master  himself  appeared,  clean-shaven  and  dressed 
in  his  best  black  suit,  with  buff  vest  and  shining  black 
stock.  The  school  was  orderly  to  a  degree  never  seen  before 
— all  was  silent  expectation.  The  forward  boys,  who  had 
been  rehearsing  before  audiences,  were  jubilant  and  im 
patient  to  mount  the  rostrum,  while  the  shy  ones  sat  with 
pale  faces,  "swallowing  their  hearts." 

The  master  now  walks  forward,  and  taking  a  position 
near  the  rostrum,  calls  out  in  loud,  distinct  tones,  that 
send  a  thrill  through  all  the  shy  boys,  "John  Dunbar!" 
In  answer  to  this  summons,  the  smallest  boy  in  the  school 


122  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

hurries  to  the  platform.  He  pipes  out  in  a  shrill  tone,  like 
a  little  bird,  "You'll  scarce  expect  one  of  my  age/'  etc., 
going  through  the  piece  with  a  constantly  accelerated  pace, 
which  leaves  him  breathless  at  the  end,  and  bows,  and  hur 
ries  panting  to  his  seat.  Then  others  of  the  small  fry  come 
on,  and  afterward  boys  of  the  age  of  John  D.  While  some 
of  these  last  acquitted  themselves  respectably,  others  broke 
down  in  confusion,  and  some  in  tears.  These  the  good 
master  treated  tenderly,  promising  great  things  for  them 
at  another  time.  To  the  astonishment  of  all,  John  D.  broke 
down  in  confusion,  and  so  did  young  Hogan,  the  Irishman, 
who  gave  way  under  the  pathos  of  Emmet's  dying  speech : 

"As  an  imperfect  actor  on  the  stage, 

Who  with  his  fear  is  put  beside  his  part, 
Or  some  fierce  thing  replete  with  too  much  rage, 
Whose  strength's  abundance  weakens  his  own  heart." 

The  name  of  the  last  boy  on  the  roll  is  now  reached,  and 
to  close  the  performance  the  master  calls,  "Dudley  Brad- 
street!"  Dudley  was  the  oldest  boy  in  the  school,  being 
in  his  eighteenth  year.  He  was  of  a  very  delicate  constitu 
tion,  so  delicate  that  he  could  not  take  part  in  the  robust 
sports  of  the  school,  but  stood  by  always  a  pleased  spec 
tator.  He  was  thin  almost  to  emaciation,  and  his  cheeks 
were  colorless  and  withered.  His  long,  brown  hair,  which 
curled  about  his  slim  neck,  the  whiteness  of  his  broad, 
smooth  forehead,  and  a  certain  marked  delicacy  about  the 
temples,  gave  him  a  feminine  look.  He  was  liked  by  all 
the  boys,  particularly  by  John  D.,  and  others  of  the  same 
age,  to  whom  he  had  endeared  himself  by  introducing  them 
to  romantic  literature,  lending  them  "The  Three  Span 
iards,"  "Don  Raphael,"  "Einaldo  Rinaldini,"  and  other 
red-hot  romances,  of  which  he  had  a  great  store.  He  walked 
habitually  with  his  head  down  and  inclined  to  one  side, 
and  often  "went  smiling  to  himself."  No  expectation  had 
been  excited  in  his  behalf;  the  school  was  getting  tired 
of  the  exercise,  and  the  erect  attitude  of  attention  was  fast 
giving  way  to  listlessness  and  lounging,  when,  in  answer 
to  his  name,  he  walked  promptly  but  slowly  to  the  ros 
trum. 


The  Theater  123 

He  does  not  at  once  begin  to  speak.  There  is  something 
in  his  look  as  he  calmly  surveys  the  audience  that  fixes 
the  attention  of  every  boy,  and  imposes  silence  as  by  a 
spell.  He  is  going  to  deliver  the  oration  of  Antony  over 
the  dead  body  of  Caesar,,  and  he  is  already  Antony.  He 
begins : 

'"Friends,  Romans,  countrymen'   (in  a  tone  of  endearment) 

'lend  me  your  ears! 
I  come  to  bury  Caesar,  not  to  praise  him.' " 

There  is  that  in  his  tone  which  makes  every  boy  hold  his 
breath.  How  inadequate  are  all  words  to  convey  a  clear 
idea  of  the  genuine  actor  or  the  genuine  orator!  Their 
force,  so  sensibly  felt,  cannot  be  analyzed.  It  is  as  swift 
and  subtle  as  the  electric  current,  and  more  inscrutable. 
As  the  young  actor  (for  he  was  a  born  actor)  goes  on,  even 
the  old  master  looks  at  him  with  wide  eyes,  surprised  and 
moved  by  the  boy's  dramatic  power.  He  reaches,  amid  the 
silent  wonder  of  the  school,  this  passage: 

"  'You  all  did  love  him  once,  not  without  cause: 
What  cause  withholds  you,  then,  to  mourn  for  him? 
O  Judgment,  thou  art  fled  to  brutish  beasts, 
And  men  have  lost  their  reason!'" 

And  then  with  broken  voice: 

"  'Bear  with  me — 

My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Caesar, 
And  I  must  pause  till  it  come  back  to  me.' " 

He  turns  away,  covers  his  face  with  his  handkerchief,  and 
shakes  as  with  a  convulsion  of  grief.  Many  boys  slyly  wipe 
away  tears,  and  Hogan,  who  has  been  busily  applying  his 
handkerchief,  bows  his  head  to  his  desk. 

The  speaker  recovers  himself,  turns  again  to  the  audi 
ence,  and  continues.     Further  on  he  says: 
"  'If  you  have  tears  to  shed,  prepare  to  shed  them  now.' " 
(Hogan  puts  his  handkerchief  in  order,  folding  it  anew.) 
"  'You  all  do  know  this  mantle.' " 

(Here  he  whisks  out  from  behind  him  a  variegated  paece 
of  stuff,  full  of  holes,  and  dabbled  with  red  paint.) 


124  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"  'I  remember, 

The  first  time  ever  Caesar  put  it  on: 
'Twas  on  a  summer's  evening,  in  his  tent, 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii. 
Look!'  (pointing  to  a  red  spot)   'in  this  place  ran  Cassius' 

dagger  through. 
See'   (pointing  out  another  spot)   'what  a  rent  the  envious 

Casca  made! 

Through  this  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabb'd; 
And  as  he  plucked  his  cursed  steel  away, 
Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  follow'd  it!'" 

(Many  of  the  boys  are  now  beginning  to  look  quite  savage.) 

"  'This  was  the  most  unkindest  cut  of  all; 
For  when  the  noble  Caesar  saw  him  stab, 
Ingratitude,  more  strong  than  traitors'  arms, 

Quite  vanquished  him;  then  burst  his  mighty  heart. 
******** 

O,  now  you  weep,  and  I  perceive  you  feel 
The  dint  of  pity:  these  are  gracious  drops.'" 

(Hogan  responds  freely,  and  there  is  a  general  thaw  all 
over  the  house.) 

"  'Kind  souls,  what!  weep  you  when  you  but  behold 
Our  Caesar's  vesture  wounded?    Look  ye  here: 
Here  is  himself,  marred,  as  you  see,  by  traitors!'" 

At  this  point  Hogan  has  both  fists  doubled,  and  he  keeps 
them  doubled  to  the  end  of  this  fine  oration,  and  there 
is  throughout  the  school  a  general  feeling  in  favor  of  insur 
rection  and  rebellion. 

As  the  school  broke  up,  the  boys  collected  about  Dudley, 
and  gazed  at  him  with  wonder  and  with  a  certain  rever 
ence.  His  dramatic  power  was  a  revelation  to  them  all. 
They  plied  with  questions  John  D.'s  crony,  "Old  B.,"  who 
now  shone  with  a  reflected  light.  The  master  abstained  from 
criticism  upon  these  first  performances;  but  he  grasped 
Dudley's  hand  as  he  came  from  the  rostram,  and  walked 
away  with  him  as  he  went  home,  talking  earnestly,  while 
the  boys  stood  grouped  near  the  door  and  looked  after 
them  in  silence. 

In  the  debating  club  afterward  organized  in  that  school, 
the  question,  "Was  Brutus  justifiable  in  killing  Casar?" 


The  Theater  125 

was  often  put  up  for  discussion,  but  was  never  debated,  no 
boy  being  found  willing  to  maintain  the  affirmative. 

Out  of  this  dramatic  mania,  which  soon  rose  to  fever 
heat  in  the  school,  grew  many  ridiculous  incidents,  some 
of  which,  though  they  may  be  thought  below  the  dignity 
of  this  chronicle,  the  writer  cannot  forbear  to  relate. 

The  young  Irishman,  Hogan,  who,  with  John  D..,  had 
failed  on  the  first  declamation  day,  set  to  work  manfully 
to  get  another  part;  avoiding  the  pathetic  and  taking  this 
time  the  famous  scene  between  Marmion  and  the  Douglas 
at  Tantallon  Castle,  which  he  was  known  to  be  diligently 
studying.  One  day  after  school,  when  the  boys  had  all  gone 
home,  except  John  D.,  who  had  been  called  back  into  the 
schoolroom,  to  bear  a  note  which  the  master  was  then  writ 
ing,  Hogan,  thinking  the  coast  clear,  went  into  the  gym 
nasium  to  have  a  private  rehearsal.  John  D.,  coming  out 
from  the  master,  heard  him  there,  and,  walking  softly  over 
the  sawdust  and  placing  himself  right  behind  him,  waited 
until  he  should  reach  the  climax  of  his  piece.  When  in 
the  very  torrent  and  whirlwind  of  his  passion  he  spoke 
these  lines : 

"  'Lord  Angus,  thou'rt  defied! 
And  if  thou  sayest  I  am  not  peer 
To  any  lord  of  Scotland  here, 
Lowland  or  highland,  far  or  near, 
Lord  Angus,  thou  hast — '  " 

With  a  tragic  "Ha !"  John  D.  seized  him.  Instantly  Hogan 
was  upon  him,  with  flushed  face  and  flashing  eyes — like 
a  wildcat!  They  clinched  and  wrestled  awhile,  John  D. 
thinking  it  sport.  But  finding  Hogan  fighting  in  earnest, 
and  with  great  fury,  he  quickly  began  to  do  his  best  in 
that  way  also.  Fortunately,  the  old  master,  coming  out 
of  the  schoolroom  at  that  time,  heard  them,  and  going 
into  the  gymnasium,  with  a  few  sharp  words  stopped  the 
fray. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter  here  ?"  he  said,  as  the  two  boys 
stood  up,  flushed  and  panting. 

"Nothing,  sir,"  said  Hogan,  looking  very  foolish  and 
forcing  a  laugh,  and  then  slipping  away.  But  John  D.'s 


126  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

blood  was  up,  and  being  of  a  temper  that  could  not  put 
away  wrath  with  the  facility  of  the  young  Irishman,  he 
stood  before  the  old  master,  still  flushed  with  anger. 

"What  the  deuce,"  asked  the  master,  "set  you  and  Hogan 
by  the  ears  ?" 

Then  John  D.  told  him  the  whole  story,  and  was  aston 
ished  to  see  him  convulsed  with  laughter ;  rubbing  his  head, 
and  laughing  in  that  peculiar  whimpering  way  of  his,  with 
more  heartiness  than  the  lad  had  ever  seen  him  show 
before.  He  seemed  to  understand  the  whole  thing,  and 
to  see  a  good  joke  in  it,  which  John  D.,  feeling  his  nose 
swelling  from  a  blow  he  had  got,  was  not  able  to  see.  In 
good  time,  however,  he  came  to  understand  it,  and  made 
a  resolution  never  again  to  surprise  a  student  of  elocution 
in  a  private  trial. 

"Old  Bradstreet"  was  pretty  nearly  proof  against  the 
dramatic  mania,  having  been  accustomed  to  declamation  at 
home,  where  Dudley  often  exercised  himself  in  his  favor 
ite  study.  Still  he  took,  in  a  mild  form,  the  prevailing  dis 
order,  and  astonished  John  D.  not  a  little,  while  returning 
from  a  day's  sport  with  the  old  fusil,  by  his  absurd  conduct. 
Having  the  weapon  at  full  cock,  he  suddenly  rushed  some 
steps  in  advance,  and  aiming  at  the  sky,  shrieked  with 
the  best  dramatic  tone  he  could  muster,  and  at  the  top  of 
his  voice: 

'"I  an  itching  palm! 
You  wronged  yourself  to  write  in  such  a  case! '  " — 

"Bang  I"  firing  off  his  fusil.  This  performance  he  repeated 
again  and  again,  retiring  each  time  to  reload,  until  the 
gun  missed  fire,  when  he  desisted. 

' 'Where  did  you  get  that?"  said  John  D. 
"I  got  it  from  Dudley.    It  is  a  piece  for  two  people  to 
speak;  one  speaks  and  the  other  answers  him,  like  they 
do  on  the  stage.    It  is  a  dialogue.    Dudley  tried  it  with  me 
to  see  if  we  couldn't  speak  it  next  declamation  day." 
"Are  you  going  to  speak  it?" 
"No ;  Dudley  don't  like  my  way  of  doing  it." 
"What  don't  he  like  about  your  way  of  doing  it  ?" 
"Oh,  I  don't  know ;  he  ran  out  of  the  room  while  I  was 
speaking  my  part.    He  said  I  ought  to  read  both  parts,  and 


The  Theater 

I  believe  I  got  them  sort  of  mixed.  He  hasn't  said  any 
thing  about  it  since." 

"Did  you  have  the  gun  when  you  rehearsed  with  Dud 
ley?" 

"No;  I  put  that  in  here;  I  thought  it  would  be  like 
the  gongs  on  the  stage,  and  make  the  speech  more  awful." 

Soon  after  this  they  stopped  to  divide  the  spoils' of  the 
day,  Bradstreet,  as  usual,  endeavoring  to  give  to  John  D. 
the  lion's  share.  Then  they  parted,  John  D.  muttering  to 
himself  as  he  walked  away  homeward,  "What  a  dear  old 
jackass  Old  B.  is !" 


CHAPTEE  XII 

A   YOUNG   IMPRESARIO 

"If  he  may  have  his  jest,  he  never  cares 
At  whose  expense." 

BUTTONS  was  a  steady  patron  of  all  shows  that  came  to 
The  Falls ;  and  if  one  of  these  remained  so  long  as  a  week 
he  was  sure  to  establish  intimate  relations  with  the  "man 
agement,"  and  to  render  them  good  service.  If  it  was  a 
menagerie,  he  could  tell  them  of  the  butcher  who  could 
supply  on  the  best  terms  meat  for  the  carnivorous  animals, 
and  give  like  information  as  to  food  for  the  kangaroos 
and  monkeys,  and  other  vegetarians.  Did  they  want  black 
boys  to  ride,  along  with  the  big  monkey,  on  the  pony  that 
had  been  taught  to  kick  up  in  the  ring,  and  to  buck  and 
to  throw  off  the  boys,  Buttons  could  supply  these.  He 
had  two  black  boys  at  hand  in  his  father's  household,  not 
mere  perfunctory  actors,  but  experts,  ambitious  youths, 
who  were  never  so  happy  as  when  in  the  arena.  And  then 
his  charges  were  so  moderate!  All  he  asked  was  to  have 
free  run  of  the  show  and  the  privilege  of  passing  in  a  few 
friends.  He  was  soon  on  familiar  terms  with  all  the  per 
formers,  calling  them  by  their  first  names.  The  great 
"Fire  King,"  who  used  to  come  into  the  ring  dressed  like 
the  devil,  with  horns  and  a  cloven  foot,  and  with  a  fork 
eat  live  coals  from  a  plate,  to  the  horror  of  blacks  and 
other  superstitious  people — he  was  simple  "Jim  Hart" 
to  Buttons. 

Even  at  Drake's  theater  he  came  at  last  to  be  in  requisi 
tion.  At  first  his  offers  of  service  were  lightly  regarded, 
and  declined,  his  youthfulness  being  against  him.  But 
when  they  came  to  put  on  the  stage  a  dramatization  of  Mr. 
Cooper's  "Last  of  the  Mohicans,"  in  which  a  black  bear 
was  introduced,  and  that  part  was  very  badly  enacted, 

128 


A  Young  Impresario  129 

Buttons  made  a  clamorous  appeal  to  the  manager,  and  got 
leave  to  bring  a  man  who  "could  play  the  bear."  Accord 
ingly  he  brought  Paris,  one  of  his  father's  slaves,  a  humor 
ous  fellow  and  a  wonderful  mimic.  One  rehearsal  not 
only  satisfied  the  manager,  but  excited  him  to  enthusiasm, 
as  it  did  all  the  members  of  his  company.  After  a  few 
rehearsals  Paris,  dressed  in  the  skin  of  the  animal,  pre 
sented  on  the  stage,  in  voice  and  action,  such  a  veritable 
black  bear  that  there  was  a  craze  over  the  piece,  and  it  had 
an  immense  run.  The  only  fault  was  made  on  the  first 
night,  and  never  repeated,  when  the  enthusiastic  audience 
threw  upon  the  stage  pieces  of  silver  money,  and  the  bear 
set  about  picking  these  up. 

This  successful  hit  elevated  Buttons  at  once  to  the  rank 
of  an  impresario.  Mr.  Eice,  afterward  famous  as  "Jim 
Crow  Rice,"  was  then  a  member  of  Mr.  Drake's  company, 
and  acknowledged  himself  under  heavy  obligations  to  But 
tons  for  valuable  help,  and  for  models,  while  he  was 
studying  negro  manners  and  character,  and  gave  him  a 
letter,  which  is  now  before  this  chronicler,  accrediting  him 
to  all  managers  of  theaters  and  shows,  and  concluding  with 
this  apposite  quotation:  "I  beseech  you,  let  his  lack  of 
years  be  no  impediment,  to  let  him  lack  a  reverend  estima 
tion  ;  for  I  never  knew  so  young  a  body  with  so  old  a  head. 
His  trial  shall  better  publish  his  commendation." 

Long  after  this  youthful  period  of  his  life,  when  he  had 
come  to  be  a  grave  man  of  business,  Buttons  felt  a  lively 
interest  in  the  career  of  his  friend  Eice.  This  actor,  it 
will  be  remembered,  after  his  success  at  The  Falls  in  his 
negro  character-song  and  dance,  went  to  the  North,  where 
he  had  great  success,  and  thence  to  London,  where  he  set 
all  the  fashionable  world  to  singing  "Jim  Crow."  There, 
as  at  The  Falls,  the  words  of  the  song  were  seemingly 
improvised,  having  new  local  hits  every  night.  Of  those 
at  The  Falls  the  following  doggerel  lines,  referring  to  the 
paper  war  going  on  daily  between  the  rival  editors,  Prentice 
and  Shadrach  Penn,  is  an  average  specimen: 

"Prentice,  though  a  Yankee,  yet  shows  his  taste  ain't  bad, 
For  every  morning  regular  he  breakfasts  on  Shad." 


130  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

It  is  not  without  a  sense  of  the  unornamental  character 
of  this  doggerel  that  it  is  set  down  here.  Yet  it  is  not 
without  value  for  the  commentary  it  affords  upon  the  taste 
for  public  amusements  at  home  and  abroad  in  that  day, 
when  with  such  a  meager  repertory  as  this  ribald  song  and 
a  grotesque  dance  the  actor  could  attain  both  fame  and 
fortune.  It  marks  also  the  beginning  of  the  taste  for  negro 
melodies  which  long  prevailed  in  "society,"  "where,"  says 
the  satirist,  "is  always  to  be  seen  a  sheeplike  quality  which 
makes  people  run  and  crowd  only  because  people  have  run 
and  crowded  before."  To  be  in  the  secrets  of  this  guild, 
and  to  know  where  the  running  and  crowding  is  to  be,  is  to 
be  in  the  "swim,"  while  not  to  be  there  is  to  lose  caste  and 
sink  into  obscurity.  In  many  famous  London  parlors  "Jim 
Crow"  was  long  a  favorite;  and  a  companion  piece  of  mel 
ody,  "Sich  a  gittin'  up  stairs,"  found  a  place  in  the  best 
polite  letters,  and  now  shares  a  chance  for  immortality 
with  "The  Book  of  Snobs." 

So  late  as  1840  or  thereabouts,  after  the  time  of  the 
Queen's  nuptials,  it  was  known  at  The  Falls  that  Buttons 
and  Russell  had  dined  at  the  new  tavern  (now  remembered 
by  many  as  the  old  Gait  House)  with  a  tall,  "nobby,"  for 
eign-looking  stranger  (afterward  known  to  be  Mr.  Rice), 
where  they  sat  very  late  at  table,  and  Buttons  went  home 
in  a  merry  mood,  singing  new  verses  of  "Jim  Crow" 
describing  the  royal  nuptials,  of  which  an  average  specimen 
is  afforded  in  the  following  irreverent  couplet: 

"I  stood  beside  Prince  Albert,  and  our  likenesses  was  sich, 
The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  couldn't  tell  which  was  which." 

The  zeal  of  Buttons  as  the  friend  and  patron  of  showmen 
extended  even  to  the  humblest  of  the  fraternity.  In  the 
early  summer  of  this  year,  an  old  man,  a  native  of  some 
part  of  Germany  contiguous  to  France,  whose  broken  Eng 
lish  was  complicated  both  by  French  and  German,  came 
to  The  Falls  with  a  panorama.  It  was  a  very  humble 
show,  the  whole  outfit  consisting  of  a  hand-organ  and  some 
views  of  French  and  Irish  scenery.  'Most  of  these  were 
probably  nothing  more  than  portions  of  paperhangings,  on 
which  were  figured  gay  landscapes,  and  hunting  scenes, 


A  Young  Impresario  131 

and  villas,  such  as  were  not  uncommon  on  the  walls  of 
houses  sixty  years  ago.  A  survival,  possibly,  of  "the  Ger 
man  hunting  in  waterwork,"  which  Falstaff  recommended 
to  Mrs.  Quickly  in  place  of  her  "fly-bitten  tapestries." 
During  the  exhibition  the  hand-organ  played  French  or 
Irish  airs,  according  with  the  several  scenes. 

For  three  nights,  under  the  active  patronage  of  Buttons, 
this  little  show  had  been  received  with  reasonable  favor, 
when  one  night  that  irrepressible  practical  joker,  Russell, 
appeared  there.  When  he  entered,  Paris,  for  whom  Buttons 
had  secured  this  "position,"  was  manipulating  the  organ, 
playing  a  French  national  air,  while  some  views  of  the  city 
of  Paris  were  about  to  be  shown.  The  scene  opened  with 
a  view  of  one  of  the  monuments  of  Napoleon's  glory,  and 
the  voice  of  the  showman  announced,  "Ze  ceety  of  Paree ! 
Dare  you  see  ze  plarse  Vondome,  unt  ze  collon  erect  by 
Napoleon  for  commemorate  dose  victoree  on  Preusse  unt 
Austria,  in  eighteen  honder  unt  five.  Von  honder  unt 
dirty  fo  fut  of  height,  of  brass. — Plarse  unt  collon  oof 
Vondome !" 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  announcement  time  was  given 
the  audience  to  view  the  scene,  when  it  was  withdrawn  and 
a  new  one  put  on.  Then  the  showman,  leaving  his  post, 
went  into  a  closet  near  at  hand,  closing  the  door,  and  leav 
ing  the  key  in  the  lock.  Eussell  flew  quickly  and  noiselessly 
to  the  door  of  the  closet,  and,  turning  the  key  softly,  locked 
him  in  there.  Then  taking  his  place,  he  proceeded  to  inter 
pret  to  the  audience  the  new  scene.  This  was  a  rural  scene, 
representing  a  villa,  or  chateau,  with  a  distant  view  of  a 
highly  improved  country,  with  bridges  of  stone  spanning 
numerous  streams,  and  gay  parties  of  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
in  carriages  and  on  horseback,  careering  there.  In  the  fore 
ground  were  a  lady  and  gentleman,  in  antiquated  costumes, 
a  little  boy  running  to  meet  them,  and  behind  these,  other 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  a  number  of  children,  and  many 
dogs.  Near  at  hand  on  the  left  was  a  flock  of  sheep  with 
lambs  frisking.  Paris  had  changed  the  stops  of  the  organ 
for  the  new  piece,  and,  either  blundering  or  purposely  abet 
ting  Russell's  mischief,  had  turned  on  "Larry  O'Gaff," 
and  now  rattled  off  a  prelude  with  this  lively  air.  Then 


132  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Russell,  from  the  showman's  stand,  in  a  loud  voice  inter 
preted  this  scene  to  the  audience: 

"Dare  you  see  ze  chateau  of  Mal-Maison:  ze  favoreet 
rezedance  of  Napoleon,  ware  'e  retire  to  get  solarse  fon  ze 
care  of  state — " 

"Sacre  nona  I"  was  heard  from  the  closet,  and  then  a  furi 
ous  rattling  at  the  door. 

"Dare,"  continued  Russell,  "you  see  ze  sheeps  unt  ze 
peoples,  unt  ze  leetle  boy  was  so  glad  to  see  his  farder  unt 
his  mudder — ' 

"Got  in  Himmel!"  from  the  closet,  and  then,  hissed 
through  the  keyhole,  "Lady  unt  jantieman,  you  doan'  see 
no  such  ting!"  And  then,  "A  moi,  Paree! — Ouvrez  la 
porte — " 

"Dare,"  proceeded  Russell,  "you  see  z.e  dogs  of  ze  chase, 
Rowlair,  Jowlair,  Bowlair,  unt  ze  bobtail  bitch  viz  nine 
pups — " 

"Donner  unt  blitzen !  Gott  tarn !"  was  now  shrieked 
from  the  closet,  and  the  cries  became  so  frantic  and  the 
kicking  and  rattling  so  loud,  that  Russell  signaled  Paris 
to  open  the  door. 

The  old  showman  came  forth  exhausted — overcome  by 
anger  and  chagrin  and  much  vociferation  and  effort  to  get 
free.  He  could  find  voice  only  to  make  proclamation  in 
a  weak  and  tremulous  way :  "Lady  and  jantleman,  ze  eze- 
bishun  is  conclude;  all  will  be  pay  back  ze  money.  Je  ne 
puis  plus — ze  show  is  conclude."  And  then  he  sank  into 
a  chair. 

But  Buttons  came  at  once  to  his  support.  He  did  not 
betray  Russell,  but  he  was  full  of  indignation  at  his  con 
duct.  He  could  see  nothing  in  it  but  a  heartless  interfer 
ence  with  an  humble  laborer  in  a  legitimate  and  respectable 
calling.  Like  his  father,  Buttons  was  a  champion  of  the 
weak  and  lowly,  and  always  on  the  under  dog  in  a  fight. 
And  Russell,  now  made  remorseful  by  the  piteous  aspect 
of  the  old  showman,  came  forward  with  a  bold  face,  and 
in  a  tone  of  indignation  explained  to  the  audience  that 
some  designing  malevolent  person,  most  likely  a  rival  from 
Cincinnati,  had  interrupted  the  progress  of  the  panorama, 
but  that  after  a  short  interval  it  would  be  resumed.  Then 


A  Young  Impresario  133 

he  and  Buttons  induced  the  old  showman  to  rest  himself 
awhile,  and  after  a  short  interval  he  recovered  his  com 
posure,  and  the  show  went  on  to  a  satisfactory  end. 

Not  only  this,  but  Buttons  stirred  up  all  his  family,  and, 
seconded  by  Russell,  induced  his  father  and  the  whole 
Digby  family  and  connections  to  go  to  the  next  exhibition, 
when  there  was  an  overflowing  house.  Then  Russell  began 
to  find  it  a  good  joke  to  send  his  friends  there,  and  by  pre 
posterous  descriptions  of  the  show,  supplemented  by  a 
paragraph  which  he  procured  to  be  inserted  in  the  Adver 
tiser,  stating  that,  "Under  the  unpretending  title  of  a 
panorama,  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  beautiful  exhi 
bitions  that  has  ever  come  to  The  Falls  may  now  be  seen 
in  Wurtz's  warehouse  for  eighteen  pence,"  filled  the  house 
every  night  for  a  week. 

The  old  showman  was  very  grateful  to  Buttons,  and 
anxious  to  manifest  this  by  a  liberal  donation;  but  "no 
blesse  oblige" — and  he  would  take  nothing.  At  last,  when 
bidding  him  farewell,  the  old  man  put  into  his  hand  a 
small  wooden  box,  containing,  as  he  said,  a  toy,  which 
Buttons  did  accept,  and  which,  when  opened  at  home,  he 
found  to  contain  a  beautiful  little  musical  box  which  played 
very  neatly  three  German  waltzes.  The  old  man  also  sent 
a  warm  expression  of  gratitude  to  Russell,  which,  when 
communicated  to  him,  made  that  gay  gentleman  look  quite 
grave. 


CHAPTEE  XIII 

THE  CAPTURE  OF  STOKES 

"They  said  unto  him,  We  are  come  down  to  bind  thee,  and 
they  bound  him." 

IT  WILL  not  do  to  say  that  Thornton  was  not  missed  at 
The  Falls.  He  had  long  been  the  leader  in  all  the  gaiety 
of  the  place,  and  "society"  missed  him  sadly,  missed  the 
gay  dances  at  the  tavern ;  and  the  gentlemen  that  were  fond 
of  good  cheer  missed  the  dinners  and  suppers  given  there, 
as  some  uncharitably  said,  "to  popularize  his  tavern."  They 
were  sorry  for  him,  too,  after  a  fashion,  looking  upon  his 
removal  to  the  country  as  banishment  to  Siberia.  But  it  is 
the  way  of  the  world  to  bear  with  fortitude  the  misfor 
tunes  of  its  friends,  and  no  hearts  were  broken  over  Thorn 
ton.  The  winter  had  fairly  set  in,  the  theater  was  open, 
and,  spite  of  the  money  trouble — nay,  all  the  more,  as  it 
seemed,  for  this — the  house  was  crowded  every  night,  and 
the  gaiety  of  the  public  not  a  jot  abated. 

At  the  warehouse  of  Mr.  John  Digby  only  the  usual 
change  incident  to  the  busy  season  was  observable.  The  ad 
vent  of  this  had  broken  up  the  rendezvous  there,  and  its 
idle  members  were  distributed  among  other  gossiping 
places ;  the  great  door  in  the  second  story  before  which  they 
had  so  often  sat,  where  the  old  cashier  had  passed  his  leisure 
hours  in  meditation,  was  now  closed,  its  back  turned  with  a 
forbidding  look  to  the  river  and  the  north  wind.  But  within 
all  was  "business."  In  the  counting-room  a  full  complement 
of  clerks  were  at  work,  the  proprietor  there  busy  despatch 
ing  messengers;  his  own  horse  "Steamboat"  standing 
saddled  with  two  others  in  stalls  on  the  lower  story ;  drays, 
with  their  black  drivers,  crowding  about  the  doors,  and 
everything  wearing  the  lively  air  of  the  busy  season.  There 

134 


The  Capture  of  Stokes  135 

was  now  a  full  river.,  covered  with  crafts  of  all  kinds.  The 
great  New  Orleans  steamers  were  again  in  motion,  and 
came  storming  up  with  the  strong  current  of  the  falls, 
"burning  tar,"  their  tall  chimneys  sending  out  clouds  of 
black  smoke,  their  decks  crowded  with  passengers,  and  piled 
with  oranges  and  pineapples  and  other  tropical  fruits ;  their 
black  crews  chanting  with  strident  voices  their  port-song; 
their  "dandy  captain,"  the  complement  of  a  "bully"  crew, 
standing,  a  mass  of  blue  cloth  and  gilt  buttons,  on  the 
upper  deck,  swelling  in  turn  over  the  small  up-river  steam 
ers  :  just  as  those  "big  Indiamen"  we  used  to  read  about, 
that  came  "rolling  down  from  St.  Helena"  upon  our  North 
Atlantic  coast — "the  Burrampooter  from  Canton,  one  hun 
dred  and  ten  days  out,  bound  for  Boston,"  or  "the  Bashaw 
from  Bombay,  with  a  monkey  and  paroquettes  in  the  rig 
ging" — swelled  over  the  little  brigs  "only  from  Liverpool." 
The  financial  storm  had  done  its  worst.  Many  cases  of 
bankruptcy  had  occurred.  But  financial  ailings  do  not 
often  kill,  and  though  one  haberdasher  did  for  a  time  lose 
his  wits  and  insist  on  going  into  a  nunnery,  people  in 
general  regarded  the  world  as  solid,  and  The  Falls  a  good 
town  to  live  in.  As  for  the  worthy  proprietor  of  the  ware 
house,  though  he  had  paid  large  sums  as  surety,  and,  to 
secure  his  credit,  had  mortgaged  his  whole  estate  to  the 
Bank  of  the  United  States,  he  yet  bore  himself  bravely, 
not  only  not  cast  down,  tbut  putting  new  strength  into  en 
terprises  by  which  he  hoped  to  recover  his  losses.  He  did 
not  worry  those  by  whose  default  he  had  suffered  loss. 
Satisfied  that  they  had  not  been  guilty  of  bad  faith,  he 
took  care  to  let  them  know  that  their  misfortune  and  his 
loss  made  no  change  in  his  friendship;  encouraging  them 
in  efforts  to  retrieve  their  fortunes,  helping  them  with  wise 
counsel,  and,  in  cases  where  the  condition  of  their  families 
required  it,  with  money  from  his  own  depleted  purse.  No 
condition  of  affairs  could  make  him  despair.  The  magni 
tude  of  a  task  only  stirred  him  to  greater  effort.  And  this 
spirit  he  infused  into  all  that  were  connected  with  him. 
There  was  no  change  in  his  household,  nor  at  the  ware 
house,  indicative  of  retrenchment.  Petty  economies  he 
despised.  New  enterprises,  suggested  by  Ms  fertile  mind, 


136  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

now  spurred  to  its  full  strength,  were  undertaken.  People 
wondered  whence  came  his  means  and  his  credit,  and  while 
they  wondered  he  went  on  with  his  work.  Toward  the  end 
of  the  winter  occurred  an  event  of  much  interest  to  him, 
and  which  promised  to  throw  light  on  Thornton's  lost  re 
ceipt.  This  will  now  be  related. 

Before  the  advent  of  steamboats,  while  only  the  old  slow 
methods  of  travel  and  transportation  were  known,  there 
were  few  professional  criminals  about  The  Falls.  Petty 
larceny  was  not  uncommon,  but  housebreaking  was  un 
known.  People  were  careless  about  fastening  their  doors, 
and  in  the  country  they  everywhere  stood  unlocked  and 
often  wide  open  through  the  night.  But  with  the  new  fa 
cilities  for  travel  came  a  more  enterprising  and  daring  class 
of  rogues,  and  the  robbery  of  stores  became  not  unusual. 
Yet  the  family  hearth  was  still  held  sacred,  and  the  felo 
nious  entry  of  a  dwelling  remained  for  a  long  time  un 
heard  of.  The  steamboats,  it  was  commonly  said,  had 
brought  in  two  classes  of  evildoers,  housebreakers  and  the 
Hanoverian  or  Norway  rats. 

On  a  dark  night,  more  than  a  year  before  the  time  of 
which  we  write,  when  the  river  had  risen  to  a  great  height, 
flooding  all  the  water  front  of  the  town,  and  reaching  al 
most  into  the  second  story  of  Digby's  warehouse,  some 
rogues  had  moored  a  boat  alongside  there,  and  breaking  a 
hole  through  the  brick  wall  in  the  second  story,  entered 
and  carried  off  a  large  quantity  of  valuable  merchandise. 
They  rifled  also  the  drawer  of  the  counting-room,  carrying 
away  some  money,  and,  as  heretofore  related,  the  tin  box 
belonging  to  Robert  Thornton,  containing  only  valuable 
papers.  All  the  detective  agencies  at  Digby's  command, 
with  Tom  Long  at  their  head,  had  been  then  put  instantly 
to  work,  and  in  a  short  time  strong  circumstantial  evidence 
pointed  to  one  Stokes  as  the  criminal — a  fellow  of  gigantic 
size  and  who  had  been  for  some  time  living  about  The 
Falls,  and  was  regarded  there  as  a  "suspicious  character/* 
He  had  been  last  employed  as  a  fisherman  at  Shippingport, 
one  of  the  little  towns  at  the  foot  of  the  falls,  from  which 
place  he  was  reported  to  have  fled  under  a  charge  of 
theft.  Now,  though  diligently  hunted  for  a  month  or  more, 


The  Capture  of  Stokes  137 

he  was  not  discovered,  and  was  supposed  to  have  quitted 
the  country. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  month  of  March,  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  while  a  great  storm  of  wind  and  rain,  with 
thunder  and  lightning,  was  at  its  height,  John  D.  lay 
awake  in  his  chamber.  Early  in  the  night  he  had  been 
lulled  to  sleep  by  the  steady  rhythm  of  the  falls,  and  had 
now  been  awakened  by  the  loud  tumult  of  the  storm.  And 
with  what  different  sensations!  A  sensation  now  of  awe 
and  vague  dread.  Not  for  the  thunder  and  lightning;  for 
his  was  a  temper  that  rather  took  delight  in  these.  But 
the  wild  caprices  of  the  wind,  now  growling  in  hoarse  bass, 
now  piping  high  and  loud,  like  "a  giant  whistling  for  his 
house-dog,"  roused  his  imagination  and  filled  his  mind 
with  ghostly  fancies. 

In  the  midst  of  the  storm  was  heard,  upon  the  brazen 
plate  of  the  street  door,  loud  knocking.  Such  a  summons 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  amidst  storm  and  darkness,  is 
apt  to  stir  the  firmest  mind  with  apprehension ;  and,  when 
the  knocking  was  repeated,  John  D.,  not  without  tremor, 
got  up,  and,  half  dressing  himself,  made  his  way  to  his 
mother's  chamber.  There  his  father  was  already  up  and 
talking  from  an  open  window  to  some  one  in  the  street 
below.  After  a  moment  he  closed  the  window  and,  hastily 
dressing  himself,  went  down  to  the  street  door.  Soon  he 
came  back,  and  taking  from  a  closet  a  pair  of  pistols,  and 
belting  these  about  his  waist,  and  putting  on  his  greatcoat, 
he  told  his  wife  that  he  was  going  out  after  the  man 
who  had  robbed  his  warehouse;  that  Mrs.  Eogan,  the  wife 
of  a  grocery  keeper  near  the  river,  was  at  the  door,  and  had 
reported  that  Stokes  was  then  in  her  house,  bargaining 
with  her  husband  for  the  sale  of  some  goods  he  had  brought 
there;  and  that  he  would  take  with  him  "little  Dick,"  one 
of  the  stoutest  of  Thornton's  slaves,  then  in  his  service,  and 
capture  him. 

Hearing  this,  John  D.  hastened  back  to  his  own  room, 
where,  while  hastily  dressing  himself,  he  heard  his  father's 
heavy  tread  going  down  the  stairway.  Putting  on  his  great 
coat  with  ample  capes,  and  seizing  Bradstreet's  old  fusil, 
now  luckily  in  his  custody,  well  loaded  for  duck  or  plover, 


138  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

he  followed  after.  Beaching  the  street,  he  saw,  by  the 
light  of  the  scattered  oil  lamps,  far  down  the  sidewalk,  the 
receding  figures  of  his  father  and  Mrs.  Rogan  and  "little 
Dick,"  like  formless  blots,  moving  over  the  glimmering 
wet  pavement.  For  a  moment,  in  a  flash  of  lightning  that 
blotted  out  all  other  lights,  he  saw  them  distinctly  revealed, 
and  then  in  the  dim  light  of  the  lamps,  and  the  confusion 
of  cross  and  refracted  lights  and  shadows,  they  became 
formless  blots  as  before.  Hurrying  after  them,  he  was 
but  a  short  distance  behind  when  they  turned  toward  the 
river.  There  all  was  darkness,  save  the  glimmer  of  their 
lantern,  and  all  was  silence  save  the  sound  of  the  falling 
rain  and  the  low  wash  of  the  river,  and  above  these  the 
deep  but  now  muffled  monotone  of  the  falls.  He  had  got 
close  behind  them  when  they  suddenly  hid  their  lantern, 
and  trod  lightly,  stepping  on  their  toes,  and  then  halted  in 
front  of  Eogan's  house.  The  next  moment  a  bright  shaft 
of  light  gleamed  out  upon  the  night,  and  quickly  vanished 
as  a  door  was  opened  and  closed  with  violence,  and  the 
key  turned  in  the  lock,  shutting  out  John  D.  in  the  dark 
ness  and  the  rain.  Drawing  near  the  door  he  heard  his 
father's  voice  within;  and  putting  his  ear  to  the  keyhole 
he  heard,  in  his  familiar  imperative  tone,  these  words,  "No, 
I  won't  trust  you  an  inch.  Fasten  his  legs  well — hobble 
him  so  that  he  can't  run."  And  then  Eogan's  voice,  "What 
about  these  goods,  Mr.  Digby  ?" 

"Keep  them  just  where  they  are;  they  are  not  mine. 
They  look  like  frippery  from  a  milliner's  store.  He  has 
been  robbing  some  poor  woman,  I  warrant.  Bring  him 
along.  Rogan,  come  with  us." 

The  door  was  now  opened,  and  Digby,  turning  about, 
said,  "Mrs.  Rogan,  you  are  not  afraid  to  stay  here  with 
Rogan  away?" 

"Troth,  I'm  not.  It  is  not  in  the  blood  of  an  O'Nale, 
man  nor  woman,  to  be  afeared  of  mortal  man.  I'd  keep 
this  house  again  all  the  rogues  in  Christendom.  Afeared ! 
No,  no,  Mr.  Digby,  I've  a  touch  of  yure  own  timper,  good 
luck  to  ye  for  a  brave  gintleman  as  ye  are — won't  you  take 
a  sup  of  something,  just  to  keep  out  the  wet  this  bad  night  ? 
Rogan,  give  me  the  key."  Here  she  held  out  her  hand  with 


The  Capture  of  Stokes  139 

an  imperious  gesture,  and  Rogan,  with  a  look  of  reluctant 
submission,  gave  her  the  key,  while  Digby  answered,  "No, 
no,  I'll  come  back  after  we  have  seen  this  fellow  locked  up." 
Then  the  prisoner  was  marched  off,  and  the  door  closed. 

The  captive  was  Stokes,  a  gigantic  fellow,  but  without 
ferocity,  or  even  courage,  as  it  seemed,  for  he  was  com 
pletely  unmanned  when  confronted  by  Digby;  and  when 
Eogan  was  summoned  from  behind  his  counter  to  tie  him, 
he  submitted  without  a  struggle.  With  Rogan  and  "little 
Dick"  on  either  side,  and  Digby  behind,  and  John  D.  with 
the  fusil  bringing  up  the  rear,  he  was  marched  to  the  jail, 
and,  after  some  delay  there,  and  a  private  talk  between 
Digby  and  the  jailer,  was  locked  up.  Then  for  the  first 
time  Digby  got  a  view  of  his  son,  with  the  firelock  on  his 
shoulder,  and  chuckled  at  this  odd  reinforcement. 

As  they  returned  from  the  jail,  Digby  sent  John  D.  and 
"little  Dick"  home,  while  he  accompanied  Rogan  back  to 
his  store.  Coming  in  front  of  the  house  they  heard  within 
a  strong  female  voice  singing  an  Irish  patriotic  song,  ac 
companied  in  the  chorus  by  another  voice,  thin  and  quaver 
ing.  Pausing  to  listen  they  heard  these  verses : 

"  'Away  now  wid  all  your  palaver  and  lies, 

Can't  ye  spake  the  good  truth  plain  and  civil? 
Can't  ye  say,  "Cousin  Pat,  take  this  or  take  that, 
Free  trade  or  the  road  to  the  divil"? 

CHORUS. 

Can't  ye  say,  "Cousin  Pat,  take  this  or  take  that, 
Free  trade  or  the  road  to  the  divil"? 

"  'Eighty  thousand  brave  boys  have  contrived  such  a  noise 

As  will  charrum  the  ears  of  gay  France,  sir; 
And  some  e'en  go  further — Och!  sure  it's  no  murther — 
And  say  it  will  make  a  king  dance,  sir. 

CHORUS. 

And  some  e'en  go  further — Och!  sure  it's  no  murther — 
And  say  it  will  make  a  king  dance,  sir. 

"  'O,  were  you  not  dull,  when  you  tuk  'way  our  wull, 

To  lave  us  so  much  of  the  leather? 
It  ne'er  entered  your  pate  that  a  sheepskin  well  bate 
Would  rouse  a  whole  nation  together. 

CHORUS. 

It  ne'er  entered  your  pate  that  a  sheepskin  well  bate 
Would  rouse  a  whole  nation  together.' " 


140  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Here  Eogan  whispered  to  Digby,  "The  ould  woman's 
been  taking  her  tay  while  we've  been  gone,  and  she's 
brought  in  a  neeghbor  by  a  tap  on  the  wall.  She'll  be 
purty  hard  on  me  now  if  I  go  in.  I'll  just  go  by  the  alley 
way.  She'll  be  civil  enough  to  you,  I'm  thinking,  and  tell 
you  all  she  knows ;  and  if  not  you  can  come  down  in  the 
morning,  if  you  plase,  Mr.  Digby." 

While  Rogan  went  in  by  the  alleyway,  Digby  entered 
the  house.  He  found  the  hostess  sitting  by  the  stove,  upon 
which  a  tea-kettle  was  now  steaming,  and  a  pleasant 
warmth  was  radiated  through  the  room.  Near  the  hostess 
sat  a  little  old  woman  with  a  pink  face,  whom  she  intro 
duced  as  Mrs.  Ryan,  her  neighbor,  who  saluted  Digby  with 
a  low  curtsey.  Each  held  in  her  hand  a  smoking  tumbler, 
and  an  unmistakable  odor  of  lemon  and  "poteen"  pervaded 
the  room. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Rogan,"  said  Digby,  "I  have  come  back  to 
accept  your  hospitable  offer,  and  take  something  to  keep 
out  the  wet  this  bad  night." 

"Just  take  a  sate,  Mr.  Digby,"  she  replied,  with  a  supe 
rior  air.  "But  I'll  have  ye  to  know  that  if  ye've  a  mind  to 
take  something,  it  must  be  the  same  I'm  now  taking  meself ; 
all  on  account  of  me  nerves  which  has  never  been  the  same, 
nor  meself  the  same  woman,  since  I  came  to  this  wild 
country.  At  home  I  had  always  wine,  poort,  clart,  or 
nagus,  and  me  father's  cellar  was  always  full  o'  the  best. 
And  I'll  have  ye  mind  it's  an  O'lSTale  you're  drinking  wid, 
Mr.  Digby/' 

At  her  request  Mrs.  Ryan  then  brewed  a  tumbler  of 
punch,  and  with  another  curtsey  handed  it  to  Digby,  who 
said: 

"Here's  your  health,  Mrs.  Ryan,  and  a  long  life  to  the 
Rogans  and  the  O'Keils  and  all  honest  people,  and  capture 
to  all  rogues.  Biddy,  here's  to  you." 

"  'Biddy' !"  cried  the  hostess,  looking  indescribably  in 
dignant  and  superior.  "I'd  have  ye  say  Mistress  Bridget 
Rogan,  if  if  s  to  me  yure  spaking.  Miss  Bridget  O'Nale 

that  was,  Mistress  Bridget  Rogan  that  is And  where's 

me  husband?" 

"Oh,  Rogan  will  be  here  after  a  while." 


The  Capture  of  Stokes  141 

"  'Eogan' !"  she  exclaimed,  rising  and  putting  down  the 
empty  glass,  and  placing  her  arms  akimbo;  "I'll  have  ye 
to  know  it  should  be  Mister  Kogan  in  yure  mouth;  and  if 
ye  talk  of  rogues  I'm  havin'  me  doubts  if  there  ain't  bigger 
rogues  left  out  than  are  put  in  the  jail.  A  fine-lookin' 
lad,  a'most  seven  feet  tall,  and  let  himself  be  led  off  like  a 
horse  wid  a  halter  !  0  Lord !  I'm  mighty  'shamed  that  I 
let  ye  take  him  away — that  I  should  be  laiged  wid  inform 
ers,  and  give  up  a  puir  lad  that  had  to  hide  and  flee  like 
a  stag  from  the  hunters !  0  dear !  0  dear !" 

Here  her  tears  began  to  flow,  and  Digby,  seeing  how  boot 
less  would  be  further  talk  with  the  lady  in  this  maudlin 
state,  put  down  the  tumbler  of  punch  and  went  home. 

Next  day  it  was  known  that  Stokes  had  employed  Ould 
to  defend  him  from  the  charge  of  robbery.  Tom  Long,  at 
Digby's  instance,  had  made  further  investigation  of  the 
case,  and  both  were  then  satisfied  that  sufficient  evidence 
might  be  obtained  to  convict  him.  But  Ould  firmly  as 
severated  that  he  was  innocent;  that  though  circumstances 
were  against  him,  nothing  amounting  to  proof  could  be 
produced,  and  that  all  suspicious  circumstances  would  be 
easily  and  simply  explained.  Meantime,  the  prisoner  lay 
in  jail,  Tom  Long  continuing  to  prosecute  the  search  for 
proof  against  him,  as  eagerly  as  if  his  own  reputation  de 
pended  upon  a  conviction.  The  case  was  twice  continued 
on  motion  of  the  commonwealth,  and  then,  before  the  next 
trial,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  spring  term  of  the  court, 
Stokes  escaped  from  the  jail. 

He  had  been  closely  interrogated  more  than  once  by 
Ould  as  to  the  tin  box,  and  had  steadily  asserted  his  ig 
norance  of  this  and  of  the  robbery,  and  Ould  believed  him. 
Thus  vanished  the  hope  that  his  capture  might  lead  to 
the  recovery  of  Thornton's  lost  receipt. 

Ould  was  confident  of  success  in  Thornton's  case,  upon 
strictly  technical  ground.  But  Thornton,  hopeful  that  the 
lost  receipt  would  turn  up,  and  desirous  of  success  upon 
this  unquestionable  proof  rather  than  upon  the  technical 
presumptions  of  the  law,  Ould,  who  had  often  obtained  a 
continuance  of  the  case  before,  now  had  it  laid  over  to 
the  next  fall  term  of  the  court,  agreeing  then  to  go  OP  trial. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    SCHOOLMASTER 

"God  of  His  goodness  hath  gifted  several  men  for  several 
callings,  that  the  necessity  of  Church  and  State  in  all  condi 
tions  may  be  provided  for.  And  thus  God  molded  some  for 
a  schoolmaster's  life,  undertaking  it  with  desire  and  delight, 
and  discharging  it  with  dexterity  and  success." 

— FUIXEB. 

MEANTIME,  at  Lastlands,  few  incidents  of  interest  had 
occurred  during  Thornton's  first  winter.  He  was  kept  busy 
putting  the  place  in  order,  straightening  the  fences  and 
the  swagging  gates,  supplying  new  rails,  mending  the  roads, 
and  the  many  details  involved  in  the  repair  of  a  plantation 
long  untenanted.  Spite  of  the  busy  season,  Mr.  John  Digby 
and  Russell  and  Stackpole  and  Mclntyre  paid  him  short 
visits,  and  were  gratified  by  finding  him  busy  and  happy. 
Intercourse  with  the  neighbors  was  soon  begun.  After 
the  bustle  incident  to  the  removal  was  over,  Phoebe  Vaughn, 
the  young  daughter  of  his  neighbor,  had  come  over  to 
visit  Barbara,  For  a  while  she  hung  modestly  about  the 
lawn  in  view  of  the  house,  when,  seeing  her,  Barbara  went 
out  with  a  smiling  face  and  brought  her  in,  and  entertained 
her  by  exhibiting  all  her  treasures  of  trinkets  and  books 
and  other  Christmas  presents ;  but  as  Phoebe  said  she  had 
"done  playing  with  dolls,"  she  was  not  shown  that  splendid 
young  lady,  "Mary  Ormsby."  They  were  so  pleased  with 
each  other  that  a  messenger  was  sent  to  notify  her  mother, 
and  Phcebe  was  kept  to  dinner,  and  was  thereafter  a  con 
stant  visitor  at  Lastlands. 

Soon  acquaintance  was  renewed  with  another  neighbor, 
the  only  tenant  on  the  Lastlands  domain.  This  was  Mr. 
Davis,  a  Swiss,  who  many  years  before  had  taken  from 

"  142 


The  Schoolmaster  143 

Reginald  Thornton,  at  a  nominal  rent  and  with  a  covenant 
to  leave  the  place  in  good  order  and  set  in  fruit,  a  lease  for 
twenty  years  of  thirty  acres  of  land  near  the  banks  of 
the  Anser.  This  land  was  elevated  above  the  general  level 
of  the  valley  of  the  stream,  and  was  of  a  light,  sandy  tex 
ture,  suited  to  the  special  purpose  of  Mr.  Davis.  He  was  one 
of  the  many  foreigners  that,  like  waifs,  drifted  out  to  the 
frontier:  men  of  culture  and  training  in  specialties  that 
would  seem  better  suited  to  populous  localities,  and  in  the 
midst  of  diversified  industries,  than  to  the  sparse  settle 
ments  of  a  new  planting  region.  Mr.  Davis  was  especially 
a  vine  grower.  The  grape  was  his  hobby.  For  a  time  he 
made  wine,  but  not  such  wine  as  was  palatable  in  Ken 
tucky,  and  his  enterprise  seemed  likely  to  end  in  failure. 
Then  he  had  stored  in  his  capacious  cellars  the  crude  juice 
of  the  grape,  for  which  he  at  last  found  a  market  in  New 
Orleans,  whither  he  continued  afterward  to  ship  it. 

His  household  was  a  large  one,  consisting  of  three  sons 
and  three  daughters,  his  wife  and  his  wife's  brother.  They 
were  by  no  means  dependent  upon  the  vine,  which  some 
times  failed,  but  were  possessed  of  various  knowledge  and 
skill  in  many  handicrafts.  With  a  forge  and  lathes  and 
tools  of  all  kinds,  they  were  workers  in  metal  and  in  wood, 
and  could  make  or  mend  almost  anything  appertaining  to 
a  plantation  or  to  a  household — from  a  wheelbarrow  to  a 
wagon,  or  from  a  spinning-wheel  to  a  weaving  machine. 
Besides,  they  kept  many  cows,  and  having  unlimited  pas 
turage  allowed  in  the  wide  valley,  they  made  cheese  that 
found  always  a  ready  sale  in  the  neighborhood  and  at  The 
Falls.  They  made  also  fruit  conserves  in  many  forms, 
apple  and  peach  leather,  and  sugared  dried  peaches,  which 
were  always  in  demand  by  the  town  confectioners.  For  a 
time,  the  solid  comfort  in  which  Mr.  Davis  and  his  con 
siderable  household  lived,  upon  thirty  acres,  was  a  puzzle 
to  many  of  his  neighbors.  Some  of  them  having  seen  him 
fusing  metal  with  a  blowpipe,  there  arose  a  suspicion  that 
he  must  be  engaged  in  some  unlawful  business,  and  that 
"The  Knoll,"  as  his  place  was  called,  was  a  nest  of  coun 
terfeiters.  But  when  the  various  industries  there  came  to 
be  known,  and  besides  what  have  been  enumerated,  that 


144  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

a  market  was  also  found  for  all  the  medicinal  herbs,  camo 
mile,  thyme  and  sage,  in  his  large  garden  extensively 
grown,  and  for  others  gathered  in  the  wildwoods,  and  all 
dried  and  packed  in  bales,  the  mystery  of  the  thrift  of 
the  household  was  dispelled,  as  well  as  the  unjust  sus 
picion. 

Mr.  Davis  was  a  highly  accomplished  man,  a  chemist,  a 
botanist,  a  musician ;  robust  in  mind  and  body,  buoyant  in 
spirits,  honest,  fearless,  and  benevolent.  He  had  been  long 
a  close  and  valued  friend  of  Eeginald  Thornton,  who  had 
often  during  his  long  solitary  winters  at  Lastlands  visited 
The  Knoll,  looking  on  with  interest  and  pleasure  while 
the  various  industries  went  on.  uninterrupted  by  his  visit. 
In  summer  he  was  accustomed  to  sit  in  the  twilight  and 
evening  on  the  veranda  at  the  back  of  his  house,  to  hear 
the  playing  of  the  musicians  at  The  Knoll,  where  Mr.  Davis 
and  two  of  his  sons,  and  his  brother-in-law  (a  fine  violon 
cello  player),  played  quartettes,  the  sound  borne  distinctly 
along  the  valley. 

Another  acquaintance  was  renewed  this  winter,  fraught 
with  good  to  the  Thornton  household.  One  stormy  night 
in  January,  the  wind  blowing  a  gale  from  the  northeast, 
and  the  driving  snow  so  thick  and  blinding  that  it  seemed 
hardly  possible  that  any  man  would  be  able  to  find  a  way 
through  it,  loud  knocking  was  heard  at  the  door.  Thornton 
chanced  to  be  up,  in  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  searching 
for  a  banging  shutter,  and  heard  the  knocking,  otherwise 
the  untimely  visitor  might  long  have  knocked  in  vain. 
Going  to  the  door,  he  found  there  Mrs.  Scudamore,  a  lonely 
widow  living  with  her  only  son  a  mile  away  on  the  border 
of  the  Lastlands  domain.  She  was  wrapped  in  a  man's 
greatcoat,  covered  with  snow.  Showing  her  at  once  into 
his  wife's  chamber,  Thornton  quickly  raked  away  the  ashes 
that  covered  the  coals,  and  seating  her  by  the  hearth, 
kindled  a  bright  fire.  She  had  come  to  tell  him  that  her 
boy  Paul  was  suddenly  taken  ill ;  that  she  would  not  have 
disturbed  him  at  such  a  time,  but  the  case  was  so  serious 
and  alarming,  that  she  could  not  forbear.  Would  it  be 
possible  for  Thornton  to  send  for  the  doctor  ? 

"Of  course  it  will,"  responded  Thornton,  and  in  the  same 


The  Schoolmaster  145 

breath  his  wife,  who  had  seemed  asleep.  Then  Thornton 
summoned  one  of  the  maids  that  slept  in  the  house,  saying, 
"Go  tell  Joshua  to  put  the  brown  mare  in  the  gig  and  bring 
it  to  the  door,  and  to  put  on  his  greatcoat.  He  must  take 
Mrs.  Scudamore  home,  and  then  go  at  once  for  the  doctor, 
and  fetch  him  to  her  house.  I  will  give  him  a  note  at 
the  door."  Then,  in  answer  to  Thornton's  inquiry,  the 
mother  described  her  son's  condition,  his  suffering  and 
fortitude,  and  his  unwillingness  to  have  anybody  disturbed 
at  such  a  time  on  his  account.  And  then  she  broke  down 
in  sobs  and  tears,  and  wrung  her  hands,  and  cried,  "My 
poor  Paul !  My  poor,  poor  boy !"  which  brought  Mrs. 
Thornton  at  once  to  her  side. 

Thornton  wasted  no  time  in  sympathy,  but  set  about 
writing  a  note  to  the  doctor  which  should  insure  his  coming 
promptly.  Then  the  mother  handed  him  a  note  which  she 
had  written,  and  Thornton,  finding  it  to  present  the  case 
effectively,  took  this.  In  a  few  minutes,  wrapped  in  warm 
garments,  the  widow  was  driven  safe  back  to  her  son,  and 
then  Joshua  went  rapidly  after  the  doctor. 
.  When  Joshua  returned  to  Lastlands,  Thornton  and  his 
wife  had  got  up,  and  were  dressed,  and  getting  into  the 
gig,  drove  over  to  the  cabin  of  Mrs.  Scudamore,  bearing 
a  load  of  things,  with  wine  and  other  restoratives.  That 
a  widow  should  lose  an  only  son  seemed  to  Mrs.  Thornton 
the  most  grievous  of  all  calamities.  She  remained  all 
night,  watching  with  the  unhappy  mother  and  the  doctor, 
while  Thornton  went  back  home  in  the  gig. 

Next  day,  after  breakfast,  taking  with  him  a  man  to 
chop  wood  for  the  widow's  fireplaces,  Thornton  went  again 
to  Mrs.  Scudamore's,  where  two  of  old  Vaughn's  sons,  axes 
in  hand,  had  already  presented  themselves  for  the  same 
purpose.  ID  the  course  of  the  morning  the  doctor  came 
again,  and  after  feeling  Paul's  pulse,  and  scrutinizing  his 
eyes,  turned  to  the  light,  and  looking  at  his  tongue,  pro 
nounced  the  crisis  passed;  and  soon  Paul  was  "out  of 
danger,"  then  "convalescent,"  then  "well." 

Mrs.  Scudamore  was  the  widow  of  a  surveyor  who,  in 
conjunction  with  a  man  of  capital,  had  purchased  in  part 
nership  large  bodies  of  land  in  Kentucky,  the  one  giving 


146  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

his  labor  and  knowledge  of  the  land,  the  other  the  capital. 
While  the  surveyor  was  busy  in  the  country  the  other  had 
fraudulently  contrived  to  have  all  the  conveyances  made  to 
himself  individually.  On  his  way  to  Virginia,  seeking 
redress  for  this  wrong,  the  surveyor  had  died,  leaving  his 
widow  in  possession  of  the  tract  near  Lastlands  to  which 
she  had  no  legal  title,  though  now  many  years  in  undis 
puted  possession.  A  fund  of  a  few  thousand  dollars  in  the 
stock  of  the  Bank  of  the  United  States,  and  an  old  negro 
man  and  his  wife,  constituted  the  widow's  whole  estate. 
From  the  dividends  on  the  stock  and  the  product  of  the 
few  acres  that  Paul  and  the  old  negroes  could  cultivate,  she 
had  heretofore  lived,  husbanding  the  bank  stock  for  Paul. 
The  neatness  and  simple  beauty  of  her  cottage  log-cabin, 
with  its  verandas  in  front  and  rear,  covered  with  clematis 
and  climbing  roses,  and  a  garden  with  a  strong  paling,  and 
a  pit  for  flowers,  bespoke  culture  and  refinement.  Thorn 
ton's  father  had  once  offered  Mrs.  Scudamore  a  home  at 
Lastlands,  which  she  had  declined,  and  soon  Tho  rnton  and 
his  wife,  attracted  to  both  the  widow  and  Paul,  made  her 
the  same  offer.  She  again  declined,  explaining  that  she 
could  not  give  up  her  possession  of  the  land  without  im 
pairing  her  right  to  hold  it.  But  when  Thornton  afterward 
talked  to  Ould  about  this,  he  was  told  that  she  might  re 
tain  possession  by  leasing  it  to  another.  Assured  of  this 
she  accepted  Thornton's  offer,  leasing  the  land  to  Thornton 
himself,  who  soon  after  put  in  possession  another  tenant, 
a  near  kinsman  of  Kirby,  the  old  soldier  who  had  been  his 
father's  herdsman  and  was  now  back  at  Lastlands,  Kirby 
guaranteeing  that  his  kinsman  would  hold  possession 
against  the  devil  incarnate,  if  that  should  become  neces 
sary. 

The  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Scudamore  with  these  neigh 
bors,  the  Vaughns  and  the  D'avises,  was  of  long  standing. 
She  spoke  warmly  in  praise  of  all  of  them,  and  expressed 
her  gratitude  for  numberless  acts  of  kindness  to  herself 
and  Paul,  during  their  long  lonely  life  in  the,  cottage. 
Paul  had  made  all  the  return  in  his  power.  He  was  good 
at  figures,  having  had  from  his  mother  excellent  instruction 
in  this  branch,  and  in  simple  surveying  which  she  had 


The  Schoolmaster  147 

learned  from  her  husband,  -whom  she  had  long  assisted  in 
his  labor.  With  his  father's  compass  and  chain  Paul  had 
marked  anew  the  corners  of  old  Vaughn's  land,  plotting  it, 
and  finding  more  land  within  the  metes  and  bounds  than 
was  set  down  in  his  deed,  a  gratifying  thing  to  the  old 
farmer,  though  common  in  old  surveys.  Paul  had  also 
attended  always  on  the  eve  of  the  periodical  visits  of  the 
great  farm  wagon  to  The  Falls,  when  he  made  a  "manifest" 
of  the  cargo,  all  set  out  in  an  orderly  manner  on  a  sheet 
of  foolscap. 

The  accession  of  Paul  and  his  mother  to  Lastlands,  with 
Phoebe  close  at  hand,  and  the  Davises  still  nearer,  and  the 
household  thus  "en  rapport"  with  the  neighbors,  was  an 
agreeable  thing  to  all.  And  now  the  old  violoncello  player 
coming  over  one  day  with  Mr.  Davis,  and  finding  that 
Barbara  had  had  some  instruction  on  the  piano,  and  had, 
as  he  said,  "goot  talent,"  he  promised  to  bring  her  some 
good  music  for  the  piano.  Accordingly,  he  soon  after  gave 
her  a  large  collection  of  music  by  Mozart.  Then  he  gave 
her  some  instruction,  bringing  with  him  musical  scales 
which  he  exhorted  her  to  practice  constantly.  "Doan'  play 
dose  song,  Mees  Barbara,  und  dose  dance.  Play  all  der 
time  scales  und  Mozart.  Dose  dance  und  dose  song — is — 
netting" — contemptuously  snapping  his  fingers.  And  soon 
finding  how  far  inferior  to  Mozart  were  the  songs  and 
dances  which,  pandering  to  the  false  taste  of  the  time, 
music  teachers  at  The  Falls  had  been  accustomed  to  give 
their  scholars  for  practice,  and  diligently  practicing  with 
the  occasional  supervision  of  the  old  violoncello  player,  she 
came  to  play  Mozart  well.  Then  he  gave  her  some  accom 
paniments  to  learn,  and,  when  she  came  to  play  these  well, 
having  brought  over  his  "  'cello,"  they  practiced  privately 
together,  and  then  entranced  Thornton  and  his  wife,  and 
drew  the  music-loving  blacks  about  the  great  door,  and 
about  all  the  doors  set  ajar,  that  their  ears  might  lose  none 
of  these  delightful  sounds. 

Barbara  was  now  of  an  age  when  it  was  proper  that 
something  better  than  the  meager  and  irregular  instruction 
she  got  at  home  should  be  afforded  her,  better  indeed  than 
she  had  got  in  the  schools  at  The  Falls.  This  had  been 


148  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

a  subject  of  anxiety  to  Thornton,  from  the  first  moment 
when  he  contemplated  the  removal  to  Lastlands.  Deficient 
himself  in  classical  learning,  then  considered  the  basis  of 
all  scholarship,  but  now  superseded  by  the  multiplication 
table,  he  was  solicitous  that  she  should  be  instructed  in 
the  ancient  classics,  as  well  as  the  common  branches  taught 
in  female  schools.  To  send  her  away  for  this,  was  never 
thought  of.  It  was  an  ancient  maxim  of  the  Thorntons 
that  the  best  training  of  a  young  girl  was  to  be  had  under 
her  mother's  wing,  and  it  was  an  inexorable  rule  with 
them  never  to  send  a  daughter  to  a  boarding-school.  Think 
ing  it  likely  that  his  neighbor  Vaughn  would  be  glad  to 
send  to  a  good  school  Phoebe  and  his  youngest  son  Hugh, 
a  lad  of  sixteen,  and  that  Sterrett  might  come  out  to  live, 
and  send  his  boy;  and  knowing  that  Mrs.  Scudamore  was 
ambitious  for  Paul,  and  was  anxious  to  afford  him  an  op 
portunity  to  extend  his  knowledge  of  mathematics,  and  of 
surveying,  of  which  he  knew  only  a  little  by  rote,  and  hav 
ing  consulted  with  Vaughn  and  Sterrett,  and  finding  them 
equally  disposed  to  contribute  to  the  maintenance  of  a 
good  select  school,  Thornton  advertised  for  a  schoolmaster 
competent  to  teach  the  ancient  classics  and  mathematics 
and  the  ordinary  English  branches.  This  advertisement 
brought  a  prompt  reply  from  a  Mr.  John  Wall  at  Shelby- 
ville,  who  represented  himself  as  a  native  of  Dublin,  Ire 
land,  a  graduate  of  Trinity  College,  with  several  years' 
experience  in  teaching,  chiefly  the  ancient  classics  and 
mathematics  and  French,  and  for  three  years  a  resident  on 
the  Continent.  After  a  further  exchange  of  letters,  Mr. 
Wall  was  invited  to  visit  Lastlands,  where  he  arrived  one 
rainy  winter  morning.  He  came  on  horseback,  wearing 
an  immense  cloth  cloak,  which  covered  himself  and  the 
greater  part  of  the  stout  pony  on  which  he  rode.  Through 
the  window  Thornton  saw  him  as  he  approached  the  house, 
and  identifying  him  by  the  cloak,  then  peculiar  to  Irish 
men  above  a  certain  class,  went  out  to  meet  him.  Having 
summoned  a  servant  to  take  his  horse,  he  brought  Mr. 
Wall  into  the  house,  and  into  the  great  unfinished  drawing- 
room,  where  Mrs.  Thornton  was  sewing,  Barbara  practicing 
her  scales,  half  a  dozen  young  negro  girls  knitting,  and 


The  Schoolmaster  149 

two  others  mingling  the  hum  of  spinning-wheels  with  the 
music.  As  the  music  ceased  and  Mrs.  Thornton  rose  to 
receive  the  stranger,  he  presented  a  very  modest  but  well- 
bred  air  and  a  blushing  face.  Mr.  Wall  was  evidently  a 
very  diffident  person.  After  a  short  interval  and  the  ex 
change  of  the  usual  commonplaces,  Mrs.  Thornton  dis 
missed  her  working  corps,  whose  eyes  were  all  stretched 
upon  the  stranger,  and  she  and  Barbara  withdrew,  leaving 
Thornton  and  Mr.  Wall  for  a  private  conference. 

Divested  of  his  capacious  cloak  Mr.  Wall  presented  a 
very  slight  but  well-formed  figure,  below  medium  height, 
fair  complexion  with  little  color,  light  flaxen  hair,  clear 
open  blue  eyes,  irregular  but  agreeable  features,  the  most 
conspicuous  of  these  being  the  mouth,  which  was  large,  ex 
posing  at  all  times,  except  when  in  absolute  repose,  rows 
of  short,  white,  even  teeth.  The  result  of  the  conference, 
which  was  soon  over,  was  an  agreement  that  Mr.  Wall 
should  remain  at  Lastlands  for  a  week  or  longer,  see  the 
place  and  its  environment,  and  then  they  would  determine 
between  them  whether  an  engagement  for  a  year  would  be 
mutually  agreeable.  Then  Mr.  Wall  was  shown  to  a  room 
and  Thornton  joined  Barbara  and  his  wife,  who  were  both 
favorably  impressed  by  his  modesty  and  his  general  ap 
pearance.  Soon  Mrs.  Scudamore  joined  them,  and  there 
was  an  assembly  of  all  the  small  Lastlands  household  in 
conference.  Great  interest  in  the  near  prospect  of  having 
a  competent  teacher  in  the  house  was  felt  and  expressed  by 
all.  But  this  conference,  like  those  premature  public  meet 
ings  we  often  see  convoked  by  sentiment,  without  facts  up 
on  which  to  ground  a  resolution,  Avas  soon  dissolved  without 
action;  Barbara  going  back  to  her  piano,  and  the  others 
to  their  usual  avocations. 

The  rain  continuing,  Mr.  Wall  and  Thornton  were  kept 
together  all  day  within  doors.  Thornton  found  him  to  be 
possessed  of  various  knowledge,  besides  those  branches  spe 
cified  in  his  advertisement.  He  was  a  botanist,  with  a 
general  knowledge  of  the  natural  sciences,  and  of  natural 
history.  Indeed,  there  seemed  to  be  no  field  of  knowledge 
into  which  he  had  not  entered,  and  what  in  that  day  was 
Considered  important;  having  Jived  several  years  on  the 


150  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Continent,  he  was  supposed  in  French  to  have  acquired  the 
true  Parisian  accent.  Such  seemed  the  extent  of  his  at 
tainments,  that  Thornton  could  not  forbear  the  suspicion 
that  he  professed  too  much.  But  he  had  not  paraded  his 
acquirements.  They  had  been  drawn  out  naturally  by 
Thornton,  leading  the  conversation  into  various  fields,  with 
a  view  to  test  his  general  intelligence.  The  only  ac 
complishment  which  he  could  be  said  to  have  made  known 
without  being  prompted  by  Thornton,  was  one  lying  out 
of  the  usual  path  of  scholars,  cryptography,  and  the  art  of 
deciphering  hieroglyphic  writing.  And  this,  though  the 
least  valuable  of  all,  was  the  one  upon  which  alone  he  did 
seem  to  plume  himself;  taking  out  from  his  pocket-book 
and  exhibiting  a  printed  slip,  cut  from  an  Irish  newspaper, 
stating  the  fact  that  Mr.  John  Wall  had  deciphered  one 
of  the  ancient  Irish  charters,  and  complimenting  him 
upon  his  skill  in  that  subtle  art. 

At  dinner,  and  at  the  tea-table,  all  eyes  were  naturally 
observant  of  him.  He  could  not  but  be  conscious  of  this, 
and  of  being  on  probation,  and  his  natural  diffidence  ag 
gravated  by  this  made  him  silent,  blushing,  and  awkward. 
One  thing  more  was  plain  to  all,  he  was  a  great  tea  drinker. 
But  in  the  course  of  the  long  evening,  which  he  passed  in 
the  midst  of  the  family  circle,  he  was  drawn  into  talk  by 
Thornton's  unconventional  ways,  and  the  tact  of  Mrs. 
Thornton,  and  at  the  end  had  grown  in  favor  with  all,  the 
ladies  being  for  him  unanimously.  Thornton  had  no  longer 
any  doubt  of  the  reality  of  his  attainments ;  but  that  a  man 
with  such  various  solid  acquirements  should  seek  a  place 
so  far  away  from  the  centers  of  learning,  and  be  content 
to  take,  at  a  moderate  salary,  the  place  of  a  teacher  of  chil 
dren  in  a  country  house,  seemed  to  be  inexplicable,  and 
invested  Mr.  Wall  with  something  of  mystery.  Neverthe 
less,  next  day  he  engaged  him,  and  he  was  soon  after  in 
stalled  as  teacher  at  Lastlands.  There  was  no  mystery  in 
the  case ;  Mr.  Wall  was  all  he  claimed  to  be,  and  more.  He 
was  a  scholar,  without  ambition,  save  for  others.  Full  of 
knowledge,  it  was  his  delight  to  impart  this  to  the  young. 
To  this  he  continued  for  years  to  devote  himself,  a  noble 
missionary  at  Lastlands.  In  this  lay  all  the  happiness  of 


The  Schoolmaster  151 

his  life.  No  purer  or  livelier  sense  of  delight  ever  illumined 
a  mortal  face  than  shone  in  his,  when  he  saw  in  the  coun 
tenance  of  the  scholar  the  responsive  light  that  announced 
the  ready  comprehension  of  what  he  taught. 

His  first  step  in  teaching  was  to  organize  the  whole  little 
band  of  scholars  in  a  class  in  Natural  History.  After  a 
few  general  lectures  before  the  blackboard,  in  which  were 
explained  the  various  divisions  of  the  animal  kingdom,  il 
lustrated  by  outlines  showing  their  structure,  from  the 
simple  worm  up  to  the  complex  form  of  man,  they  were 
taken  into  the  open  air,  where  the  common  living  things 
about  the  plantation  were  studied  by  actual  observation. 
The  birds  soon  became  absorbing  objects  of  study,  their 
various  forms  and  coloring  and  plumage;  and  they  were 
promised  new  subjects  in  the  spring,  when  other  birds  that 
pass  their  winters  in  the  South  should  return  to  their  sum 
mer  home,  and  when  all  of  them,  their  habits,  their  songs, 
and  their  nesting  would  be  delightful  to  observe.  Only  the 
popular  names  of  these  birds  were  used  in  these  early  les 
sons,  the  technicalities  being  all  reserved  for  a  later  day, 
when  curiosity  should  stir  the  scholars  to  a  desire  for  more 
particular  knowledge.  It  was  not  long  until  Barbara  and 
the  other  zealous  scholars  knew  well  all  the  birds  about 
Lastlands,  their  habits,  and  their  characteristic  traits ;  and 
they  were  promised  a  new  field,  when  spring  and  summer 
should  open  to  their  observation  the  various  inhabitants  of 
ihe  branch  and  the  Anser.  One  day  in  every  week  was  de 
voted  to  this  outdoor  study,  and  this  day  proved  always  a 
delightful  holiday. 

Birds  had  long  been  to  Barbara  objects  of  great  interest 
and  eager  observation.  It  had  been  a  custom  at  Lastlands, 
in  Reginald  Thornton's  day,  in  winter,  to  spread  food  for 
them  near  a  window  of  the  breakfast-room,  and  this  was 
still  observed.  Sitting  still  by  the  window,  with  food,, 
placed  on  the  sill,  Barbara  got  a  close  view  of  these  birds, 
often  looking,  as  she  said,  "right  into  their  eyes";  and  in 
her  rambles  she  had  made  intimate  acquaintance  with 
many.  One  cold  day,  late  in  the  afternoon,  she  asked  Mr. 
Wall  where  the  little  sap-suckers  slept  in  winter,  and  when 
he  answered,  "In  holes  in  the  dead  limbs  of  trees,"  she 


152  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

shook  her  head  negatively,  and  said,  "Come  and  let  me 
show  you/'  And  then  she  led  him  out  to  a  rail  fence,  and 
peering  along  it,  at  last  mounted  upon  the  top  rail,  and 
passing  her  hand  along  the  leaning  stake,  drew  out  from 
a  hole  in  the  underside  a  little  sap-sucker,  and  put  it  into 
his  hand.  And  then,  having  returned  the  bird  to  its  bed, 
she  found  another  and  another,  satisfying  Mr.  Wall  as  to 
the  fact,  and  delighting  him  with  this  proof  of  her  nice 
observation.  He  did  not  claim  to  be  a  professional  ornithol 
ogist,  and  he  promised  himself  now  the  acquisition  of  much 
particular  knowledge  of  birds,  in  studying  them  with  such 
an  accurate  and  zealous  observer  as  Barbara.  With  Wil 
son's  American  Ornithology  and  Bewick's  British  Birds  as 
text-books,  both  master  and  scholar  became  in  time  ac 
complished  ornithologists. 


CHAPTER  XV 

OULD  AND  BARBARA 

"The  birds  sit  cnittering  in  the  thorn: 
A'  day  they  fare  but  sparely." 

ON  A  Saturday  in  the  latter  part  of  February,  when 
the  ground  was  white  with  snow,  and  a  leaden  sky 
promised  more,  Mr.  Ould  had  gone  to  Lastlands.  He  went 
in  behalf  of  Joe  Sterrett,  of  whom  he  bore  intelligence  that 
greatly  pained  Thornton.  Sterrett's  success  with  his  great 
horse  Ormus  had  infatuated  him  with  racing.  He  had  in 
curred  great  expense  in  fitting  up  training  stables  and  a 
track  at  Oakleigh,  and  expended  large  sums  in  brood  mares, 
contemplating  breeding  and  racing  on  an  extended  scale. 
The  association  of  the  turf  had  proved  damaging  to  him 
in  many  ways,  but  worst  of  all  in  bringing  him  into  a  habit 
of  drink.  He  was  now  in  debt,  all  his  ready  money  gone, 
his  racing  stable  mortgaged,  and  an  execution  in  the  hands 
of  the  sheriff  for  sixteen  hundred  dollars,  to  satisfy  which 
a  levy  had  just  been  made  on  four  of  his  slaves  at  Oakleigh, 
which  were  to  be  sold.  Ould  desired  Thornton  to  buy  these 
and  hold  them  for  redemption  by  Sterrett,  if  desired. 

"But  I  have  no  money,"  said  Thornton. 

"I  know  that,  but  you  can  easily  have  it,  by  taking  from 
Mclntyre  money  left  with  him  for  your  use  by  Dick,  all 
of  which  is  at  your  discretion.  You  have  not  been  willing, 
I  know,  except  for  purposes  in  the  interest  of  the  Lastlands 
property,  to  use  this,  because  of  Mclntyre's  constant  talk 
about  economy,  and  putting  on  the  airs  of  a  custodian.  He 
has  offended  your  pride.  I  understand  it  all,  and  I  have 
not  blamed  you  for  this  self-denial  in  behalf  of  personal 
independence.  But  you  will  sacrifice  this  for  such  a  friend 
as  Sterrett,  Captain  Shelby  is  ill.  He  does  not  know  of 

153 


154  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

this  matter.  He  is  already  distressed  on  account  of  Ster- 
rett's  bad  habits,  and  though  he  would  quickly  discharge 
the  debt,  a  knowledge  of  this  would  add  greatly  to  his  dis 
comfort.  Sterrett  will  not  take  the  money  as  a  loan.  You 
once  refused  to  accept  his  aid  in  that  way,  and  nothing 
would  now  induce  him  to  become  a  borrower  from  you.  But 
he  will  be  glad  if  you  will  attend  the  sale,  and  buy  the 
slaves,  and  thus  save  them  from  the  uncertain  fate  of  slaves 
sold  from  the  block.  He  dreads  that  the  negro  traders  may 
come  and  buy  them,  and  he  is  especially  apprehensive  that 
McCrae  may  contrive  that  they  shall  do  so,  as  a  matter  of 
spite,  hating  Sterrett  as  one  of  your  particular  friends." 

Thornton  got  up  and  walked  the  floor  some  moments 
with  a  clouded  face.  Turning  suddenly  to  Ould  he  said, 
"Of  course  for  this  purpose  I  will  get  the  money  from  Mc- 
Intyre.  You  are  right  about  my  feeling  in  this  case,  but 
I  would  make  any  sacrifice  of  pride  or  of  mere  sentiment — 
any  proper  sacrifice — in  such  a  case  as  this.  I  will  give  you 
an  order  on  Mclntyre  for  whatever  sum  may  be  necessary." 
This  was  accordingly  done,  allowing  a  good  margin  for 
the  contingencies  of  a  sale  at  auction,  and  the  subject  was 
dismissed. 

The  friends  had  not  had  a  chat  for  many  months,  and 
now  held  a  long  private  talk  in  the  snug  library.  Thornton 
found  himself  asking  a  thousand  questions  about  his  friends 
and  ignoring  his  foes,  about  people  to  whom  he  was  in 
different,  showing  uncommon  interest  in  the  town,  which 
he  had  not  visited  since  his  removal,  and  which  he  had 
bitterly  forsworn.  At  last,  laughing,  he  said,  "My  talk  is 
like  Master  Shallow's,  Bob,  all  questions.  There  is  a  strange 
inconsistency  in  my  thoughts.  My  life  here  is  so  regular 
and  busy  that  time  goes  by  imperceptibly.  There  is  but 
a  narrow  gap  between  my  life  here  and  in  town,  yet  when 
I  look  back  it  seems  a  long  way  off;  and  still  I  feel  as  if 
all  things  must  be  standing  there  just  as  I  left  them.  Your 
announcement  of  the  death  of  the  old  watchman  startled 
me  as  an  extraordinary  event,  and  I  find  myself  moralizing 
upon  it  much  in  Master  Shallow's  way :  'And  old  Double's 
dead !' " 

"Time  is  a  mystery,"  replied  Ould,  "and  travels,  as  the 


Quid  and  Barbara  155 

great  poet  tells  MS,  at  different  paces  with,  different  persons 
in  diverse  circumstances.  From  your  questions,  you  like  to 
hear  of  the  town  as  you  like  to  look  from  the  window  of 
this  snug  room  at  the  snow-storm,  congratulating  yourself 
that  you  are  out  of  it." 

"Since  you  interpret  me  so  charitably  I  will  go  on  with 
my  inquiries.  With  whom  does  Sterrett  consort — who  are 
his  cronies  ?" 

"Now  that  the  race  horses  are  in  winter  quarters,  his 
cronies  are  idle  drinking  men.  Funnel  is  his  especial  fa 
vorite.  They  meet  with  the  regularity  of  the  clock,  and 
drink,  and  smoke,  and  dree  over  the  same  threadbare  top 
ics:  cigars,  and  the  different  brands  of  wine  and  brandy, 
receipts  for  punch  and  salads  and  made  dishes,  and  such 
rubbish.'-' 

"Yes,  I  know.  I  was  of  that  company  once.  I  can  hear 
Funnel  now  saying,  'I  know  a  brandy  !'  with  such  unction 
as  another  would  say,  'I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild 
thyme  blows.' }: 

"Isn't  it  astonishing,"  said  Ould,  "to  see  into  how  small 
a  compass  the  thoughts  of  a  cultivated,  capable  man  like 
Sterrett  may  be  contracted  by  idleness  and  drink  ?  Moving 
in  a  microscopical  arena  and  imagining  himself  to  be  en 
joying  the  delights  of  social  intercourse  and — friendship ! 
But  it  is  not  for  me  to  talk ;  for  I  am  a  sinner  too,  a  con 
scious  sinner.  But  I  never  seek  companionship  in  drink. 
I  sin  alone.  If  I  take  to  companions  then  they  are  sure  to 
be  clean  out  of  my  ordinary  associates.  In  the  first  stage 
I  am  in  such  a  sublimated  state  that  I  want  no  associate, 
and  avoid  all  humanity.  In  the  next  I  go  among  the  gam 
blers.  Then  if  I  could  find  a  band  of  savages  I  would  con 
sort  with  them.  At  last  I  am  stranded  in  a  slough,  with 
monkeys,  and  rats,  and  lizards,  and  toads,  and  terrible  non 
descripts,  all  as  real  to  me  as  the  chairs  and  books  in  this 
room.  And  there  lies  a -mystery  physiological  or  psycho 
logical,  for  which  I  can  find  no  solution,  but  only  make 
obscure  and  terrible  conjectures.  But  enough  of  this." 
And  here  he  rose  and  walked  about  the  room. 

"Bob  Ould,"  said  Thornton,  earnestly,  "did  you  ever 
make  a  seripus  resolution  to  quit  drink  forever  ?" 


156  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

.  "Often/'  said  Ould,  turning  about  suddenly.  "Have 
quit  it  forever,  as  I  thought.  But  it  comes  back  to  me, — 
don't  say  I  go  back  to  it, — it  comes  back  to  me,  not  in  the 
ordinary  forms  of  temptation  that  revive  the  appetite  in 
most  men ;  for  mine  is  not  a  sensual  nor  a  social  craving : 
it  comes  to  me  in  solitude,  suddenly,  in  a  wild  tempest 
that  sweeps  me  away.  Come,  let  us  take  a  walk." 

"But  it  is  snowing." 

"You  don't  mind  that?" 

"No,  but  you?" 

"I  like  it  above  all  things,  sometimes,  and  this  is  one 
of  the  times." 

Thornton  complied,  and  putting  on  their  heavy  great 
coats  with  ample  capes,  they  walked  away  through  the  fall 
ing  snow,  down  to  the  Anser,  now  flowing  full,  and  black 
between  its  snowy  banks,  and  along  it  to  the  footbridge, 
where  they  stopped  to  observe  some  wildfowl,  a  flock  of 
crested  megansers,  fishing  and  disporting  in  the  cold 
stream.  Thence  they  went  across  the  water,  and  up  the 
gradual,  long  acclivity  to  the  great  woods,  where  they  found 
no  living  thing  abroad,  and  after  half  an  hour  of  aimless, 
walking,  retraced  their  steps,  and  throwing  off  their  heavy 
coats  in  the  hall,  and  exchanging  their  boots  for  slippers, 
Ould,  now  in  high  glee,  called  Barbara  to  come  and  play 
Mozart,  while  he  stretched  himself  with  half-closed  eyes 
upon  a  lounge  to  listen.  Barbara  played  for  some  time, 
and  then,  suddenly  looking  at  the  clock,  bounded  from  her 
seat,  and  spite  of  Quid's  protest,  went  away  saying,  "I 
must  feed  my  hens  and  the  birds."  These  last  were  al 
ready  fluttering  about  the  windows. 

Then  Mrs.  Thornton  came  into  the  room  with  her  knit 
ting,  and  they  fell  to  talking  about  music.  Readers  will 
remember  that  this  was  a  day  of  false  sentiment :  when,  as 
the  great  rough  critic  says,  all  literature  lay  sprawling  and 
puking  in  Wertherism  and  Byronism,  which  infected  every 
thing.  In  a  state  of  tender  dissolution  and  thaw,  the  beaux 
hung  over  the  belles  while  they  sang  maudlin,  sentimental 
songs  at  the  piano :  "We  met,  'twas  in  a  crowd,  and  I 
thought  he  would  shun  me" — or  according  to  Russell's  in 
terpolation,  "thought  he  would  shoot  me," 


Ould  and  Barbara  157 

"Oh,  no,  we  never  mention  him,  his  name  is  never 
heard" — etc.  The  ideal  lover  was  a  cadaverous  man  with 
a  high  forehead,  looking  as  if  the  "iron  had  entered  into  his 
soul/'  or  a  gentle  melancholy  invalid,  with  a  soft  voice  and 
a  general  "lute  and  flute  fantastic  tenderness."  Even  Mc- 
Intyre,  robust  as  he  was,  when  a  Virginia  belle  paid  a  visit 
to  The  Falls,  and  caught  him  in  her  meshes,  fell  into  the 
prevailing  mood,  and  used  to  stand  by  her  at  the  piano  and 
sing  duets ;  she  piping  in  her  soft  voice, 

"If  there  be  one  spark,  oh,  fan  it  to  a  fla-m-e, 

while  he  responded  through  his  nose,  as  through  a  trumpet, 
"Give  her  more  pit-ee,  or  me  less  pai-n-n-e"; 

All  which,  looking  back  upon  it  now,  seems  most  absurd. 

Ould  puzzled  himself  to  know  why  music  should  give  so 
much  pleasure  to  him,  who  could  not  turn  any  tune,  even 
the  simplest — not  even  "Hail  Columbia"  or  "The  Star 
Spangled  Banner."  "I  cannot  tell  how  it  is,"  he  said, 
"they  say  I  have  no  ear,  yet  I  love  Barbara's  music.  I 
believe  that  Eussell  and  Stackpole  are  in  a  conspiracy  to 
depreciate  me,  on  this  score,  because  I  don't  like  the  senti 
mental  ballads  they  sing — '0  leave  the  gay  and  festive 
scene/  and  all  such  stuff.  Barbara's  music  is  full  of  charm 
ing  caprices,  and  leads  me  through  a  variety  of  delightful 
moods  into  a  world  of  enchantment.  I  make  my  own  li 
bretto, — I  believe  you  call  it  that, — and  I  fancy  myself,  for 
the  time,  both  musician  and  poet.  I  cannot  analyze  this 
influence;  it  is  too  subtle,  and  eludes  the  grasp,  as  those 
gauzy  dreams  do  that  come  between  sleeping  and  waking. 
But  that  rubbish  of  Eussell's,  and  his  favorite  song!" 
Here,  in  a  monotonous  chant,  he  recited  these  verses  of  a 
song  then  in  fashion : 

"  'O,  leave  the  gay  and  festive  scene, 
The  halls,  the  halls  of  dazzling  light,' 

And  roam  with  me  through  forests  green, 
Beneath  the  moon's  pale  light. 

I'll  tell  thee  how  the  maiden  wept 
When  her  true  knight  was  slain, 


158  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

And  how  her  broken  spirit  slept, 

And  never  woke  again. 
I'll  tell  thee  how  the  steed  drew  nigh, 

And  left  his  lord  afar — 
But  if  my  tale  should  make  thee  sigh, 

I'll  strike  the  light  guitar.' " 

Here  he  rose  from  the  lounge  with  a  roar  of  laughter,  cry 
ing  out,  "Can  anything  be  more  absurd?" 

But  Mrs.  Thornton  did  not  agree  with  him.  That  good 
lady  was  fond  of  sentimental  songs,  and  the  vague  touches 
of  chivalry  and  romance  in  this  had  made  it  a  favorite 
with  her.  "I  think/'  she  said,  "that  is  a  beautiful  song; 
and  Mr.  Eussell  sings  it  with  so  much  feeling/' 

"He,  the  humbug!"  said  Quid;  "why,  he's  laughing  all 
the  time  in  his  sleeve,  at  its  nonsense." 

"But,  Mr.  Ould,  all  love  songs  are  nonsensical,  if  you 
scan  them  too  closely,  as  all  love  scenes  and  love  speeches 
are — for  the  most  part.  But  it  is  enough  for  young  people 
if  they  only  suggest  love  and  romance,  and  have  a  good  air. 
These  cover  all  the  faults  of  the  poetry.  How  comes  it  that 
you  remember  this  so  well,  if  it  is  so  poor  a  song?" 

"That's  another  puzzle,  but  I  suppose  it  is  only  one  more 
instance  of  the  ingrained  perversity  of  man,  that  he  is  sure 
to  think  most  of  what  he  tries  to  shut  out  from  his  mind. 
Themistocles,  you  know,  prayed  in  vain  for  a  faculty  of 
forgetting.  The  air  is  indeed  a  good  one,  as  songs  go,  but 
what  is  the  air  of  any  of  these  songs?  A  few  bars  sung 
over  and  over  to  a  dozen  verses.  But  I  know,  Mrs.  Thorn 
ton,  that  I  am  only  depreciating  myself  by  differing  with 
you  in  this.  Thornton,  don't  sit  there  laughing,  but  come 
to  my  rescue.  What  do  you  say?" 

"Mr.  Ould,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  Mrs.  Thornton  knows 
the  youthful  heart,  for  which  these  songs  were  written,  bet 
ter  than  you  or  I ;  and  she  tells  you  that  they  answer  their 
purpose.  I  am  not  going  to  get  into  this  controversy.  I 
know  too  well  the  strength  and  the — constancy  of  your  ad 
versary.  Besides,  I  am  committed  long  ago  to  all  her  opin 
ions  on  this  subject,  not  only  by  word  of  mouth  but  by  overt 
acts,  and  I  am  bound  to  stand  with  her.  What  do  you  say 
to  this  bit  of  love  and  chivalry?"  And  then  Thornton  sang 
with  great  spirit: 


Quid  and  Barbara  159 

"  'O,  give  me  back  my  Arab  steed, 

My  shield  and  falchion  bright, 
That  I  may  to  the  battle  speed, 
And  save  him  in  the  fight'  " 

"The  wise  man  says/'  replied  Ould,  "  'Speak  to  a  man 
according  to  his  idols/  But  I  have  only  to  say,  that  I  hope 
some  day  to  see  a  better  quality  of  songs ;  when,  instead  of 
the  iteration  of  a  few  bars,  we  shall  have  in  the  ballad  a 
musical  theme  wrought  out  within  a  small  compass,  as  in 
short  poems  a  poetical  theme  is  wrought  out,  complete  and 
full  in  expression.  These  will  be  the  real  gems  of  music,  as 
short  poems  are  now  the  real  gems  of  poetry,  and  the  union 
of  these  may  make  the  ideal  song  of  the  future." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  see  that  day,"  said  Thornton,  "but  I 
am  not  hopeful  about  it.  Eussell  will  be  out  some  day 
this  week,  and  will  be  sure  to  bring  the  latest  song,  so  we 
shall  see  if  there  has  been  any  advance.  Have  you  heard 
him  sing  'Wake,  dearest,  wake/  and  'Again  united'  ?" 

"No,"  said  Ould,  grinning,  "and  if  he  comes  out  while  I 
am  here  and  you  let  him  sing  it,  I  shall  consider  it  a  breach 
of  hospitality.  But  I  am  going  to  look  up  Barbara  and 
bring  her  back  to  play  more  of  Mozart,  and  drive  off  all 
that  rubbish."  Then  he  went  away  out  of  doors. 

And  here  this  chronicler  cannot  forbear  to  avail  himself 
of  the  opportunity  to  express  his  full  sympathy  with  Mr. 
Ould.  Not  to  criticise  these  sentimental  love  songs,  which 
have  had  their  day,  but  to  lament  that  they  have  been  suc 
ceeded  by  worse  songs,  by  jmaudlin  lamentations  over  old 
arm-chairs  and  old  well  buckets,  and  superannuated  things 
in  general;  and  these  in  turn  by  doleful  ditties  that  recall 
the  inevitable  distressful  incidents  of  life,  "The  Vacant 
Chair" ;  "The  Empty  Cradle,"  etc. ;  where,  though  the  title 
suggests  all  that  can  be  said,  the  inexorable  minstrel  yet 
goes  on  anatomizing  our  sorrows  for  us,  "piling  up  the 
agony,"  taking  a  mean  advantage — as  if  a  man  meeting  a 
Swiss  exile,  not  content  with  reminding  him  of  William 
Tell  and  Chamounix,  should  get  him  into  a  corner,  and  sing 
to  him  the  Eanz  des  Vaches. 

Barbara  was  found  by  Mr.  Ould,  after  a  little  search,  on 
the  south  side  of  the  house,  where  was  laid  down  a  platform 


160  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

of  boards,  from  which  the  snow  was  kept  carefully  swept, 
and  upon  which,  at  fixed  hours  every  day,  food  for  the 
birds,  scraps  and  crumbs  from  the  table,  and  Indian  corn, 
and  the  screenings  of  wheat,  were  punctually  spread.  Bar 
bara  had  learned  from  old  Kirby  how  important  it  is  to  all 
domesticated  animals  to  have  their  food  punctually  served, 
and  she  was  always  strictly  observant  of  this  lesson,  in  feed 
ing  her  hens,  and  now  also  the  birds.  Punctuality  was 
strictly  observed  in  all  the  affairs  of  Lastlands,  and  it  was 
the  absolute  reverence  in  which  the  practice  was  held  by 
her  that  had  sent  Barbara  away  from  the  piano  against 
Quid's  protest,  as  she  now  explained  to  him. 

A  great  throng  of  birds  of  many  varieties  were  gathered 
about  the  board  as  Ould  approached,  when  they  all  took 
flight.  There  were  blue- jays,  and  cardinal  grosbeaks,  and 
many  varieties  of  woodpeckers  and  their  congeners  the  sap- 
suckers,  and  sparrows,  and  spry  little  wrens  with  short 
hoisted  tails,  and  goldfinches,  now  in  sober  winter  plumage, 
and  snow-birds  with  pale  indefinite  coloring  and  apathetic 
northern  manners.  The  smaller  birds  soon  recovered  from 
their  fright,  and,  n^t  without  some  shyness  at  the  coming 
of  a  stranger,  returned  to  the  food,  while  the  cardinals  and 
the  blue- jays  held  aloof,  like  social  lions  at  a  soiree,  "hov 
ering  distinguished/' 

Mr.  Ould  having  read  Wilson's  Ornithology,  and  know 
ing  Audubon  personally,  felt  that  he  might  claim  some 
knowledge  of  birds,  and  began  to  discourse  upon  those  be 
fore  him.  "Those  blue-jays,"  said  he,  "are  birds  of  very  bad 
character.  Like  their  kinsmen,  the  crows,  they  are  rogues 
and  plunderers.  They  invade  the  nests  of  other  birds,  and 
destroy  the  eggs  and  the  young  and  the  nests.  If  I  were 
in  authority  at  Lastlands,  I  would  have  them  all  killed." 

"I  know  their  wicked  ways,"  said  Barbara;  and  then  she 
told  how  Mrs.  Thornton  while  at  Lastlands  in  the  time  of 
Reginald  Thornton,  sitting  under  the  "Bible  tree"  (a  shady 
beech,  where  in  summer  she  had  taught  the  little  blacks 
their  Scripture  lessons),  saw  something  dropped  from  the 
branches  above  which  proved  to  be  the  wreck  of  a  dove's 
nest,  and,  to  her  horror,  fragments  of  the  limbs  of  young 
birds  murdered  and  devoured  by  marauding  jays.  "I  told 


Quid  and  Barbara  161 

Uncle  Rob  about  them,"  she  added,  "but  he  said  that  if  the 
jays  were  driven  away  or  killed  we  should  get  no  raspber 
ries  nor  cherries  nor  currants,  for  the  many  catbirds  that 
would  swarm  about  the  place.  He  says  the  jays  are  made 
to  keep  down  the  catbirds  and  other  small  birds.  It  seems 
hard  for  the  poor  small  birds  though,  doesn't  it,  Mr. 
Ould?" 

Quid  was  mightily  tempted  here  to  launch  into  wide 
waters,  and  discourse  of  that  inexorable  law  by  which,  in 
the  economy  of  nature,  the  various  creatures  of  the  earth 
are  constrained  to  live  by  devouring  one  another.  But  he 
instinctively  recoiled  from  presenting  to  the  mind  of  Bar 
bara  the  grim  picture  of  "Nature  red  in  tooth  and  claw," 
or  of  suggesting  that  awful  and  inscrutable  question,  "What 
is  the  purpose  of  all  the  pain  with  which  the  world  is 
filled?"  And  so  he  kept  silent,  assenting  by  a  nod,  and 
looking  with  new  interest  into  the  young  girl's  sweet  face 
and  wonderful  eyes. 

Then  she  pointed  out  to  him  the  woodpeckers  and  sap- 
suckers,  and  called  his  attention  to  the  fact  that  these  are 
all  bow-legged.  To  which  Ould  replied  that  this  conforma 
tion  was  favorable  to  their  habit  of  climbing  about  the 
limbs  of  trees,  and  made  further  observations  upon  the 
chisel  form  of  their  beaks,  by  which  they  puncture  the  bark 
of  trees,  and  upon  their  barbed  tongues  with  which  they 
draw  out  the  worms  that  lie  hid  there ;  keeping  up  as  well 
as  he  could  his  credit  as  ornithologist.  At  last  she  pointed 
out  the  goldfinches.  "Goldfinches !"  exclaimed  Ould.  "Oh, 
no,  those  are  not  goldfinches.  Goldfinches  are  bright  yel 
low  and  black.  They  are  all  away  in  the  South  now." 

But  she  adhered  to  her  statement,  explaining  that  they 
were  now  in  winter  feathers,  but  would  come  out  in  all 
their  glory  in  the  spring;  and  showed  so  much  real  knowl 
edge  that  he  forbore  further  pretensions  as  an  ornithologist, 
and  having  got  a  lesson  where  he  expected  to  give  one,  he 
led  her  back  into  the  house.  There  he  resumed  the  subject, 
saying,  "I  believe  with  your  help  we  may  make  a  pretty 
illustration  of  the  calendar,  representing  the  months  by 
birds  and  an  appropriate  scene.  When  you  think  of  the 


162  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

winter,  in  summertime,  don't  you  think  also  of  the  birds 
that  belong  to  winter  ?" 

"Yes,  even  a  picture  of  winter,  in  a  book,  puts  me  in 
mind  of  the  winter  birds;  and  I  don't  think  a  Christmas 
picture  good  at  all  if  it  hasn't  got  the  cardinal,  as  you  call 
the  redbird,  in  it." 

"Well,  what  bird  shall  represent  January,  and  what  shall 
be  the  scene  ?" 

"The  snow-birds  will  do  for  that,  with  snow  on  the  shrub 
bery  weighing  it  down." 

"What  for  February?" 

"Oh,  the  bluebird  sitting  on  a  stake,  or  flying  before  you 
from  post  to  post,  and  whistling,  'Don't  you  see  me?  I've 
come  back' ;  and  trying  to  make  you  notice  him." 

Ould  grinned  with  delight  as  he  set  this  down.  "And 
for  March?" 

"The  blackbird  for  March,  with  his  pretty  song  fcher-o- 
ke-e-e' ;  and  for  the  scene,  the  burning  of  cornstalks  and  the 
men  ploughing  for  corn." 

"April  ?"  After  long  consideration  Barbara  could  name 
no  bird  peculiar  to  April  and  it  was  passed  bv. 

"Very  well,  for  May  ?" 

"For  May?  The  cock  partridge  on  a  stump  or  a  rail, 
with  his  loud  'Bob  White'  smacking  from  his  lips." 

"And  June?" 

"June  ?  June — oh,  the  swallows  dipping  over  the  water." 

"July?" 

"The  yellowhammers,  with  their  broods,  among  the 
stumps  in  the  new  clearing." 

"August?  That's  the  place  for  my  goldfinches;  isn't  it?" 

"Well,  yes — you  may  put  them  there;  they  are  in  the 
lanes  then,  in  the  dust  and  the  thistledown." 

"Yes,  in  the  hot  lane  blazing  with  dust  and  thistledown. 
And  what  for  September  ?" 

"Oh,  doves  and  stacks  of  hemp." 

"Yes,  troops  of  turtledoves  and  stacks  of  hemp;  and  I 
say  for  October,  birds  of  all  sorts  flocking."  And  she  as 
sented. 

"November?  I  say  wildfowl,  and  wedges  of  geese  on 
the  wing." 


Quid  and  Barbara  163 

"For  November?"  she  said,  meditating.  "If  you  hadn't 
already  put  him  down  in.  May,  I  should  like  to  have  the 
partridge  with  his  brood  here.  You  don't  often  see  him 
then,  but  I  love  to  hear  his  call  at  dusk,  bringing  together 
his  flock  for  the  night.  It  has  such  a  sweet,  sad  sound 
then." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  dare  say,"  said  Ould,  laughing.  "His  jolly 
bachelor  days  are  over  then,  and  he  sings  a  melancholy 
song,  with  a  wife  and  a  flock  of  children  about  him." 

"I  don't  think  it  melancholy,  but  only  anxious;  for  we 
don't  know  but  some  of  the  children  are  missing.  And 
then  it  may  be  the  mother  that  calls — yes,  I  am  sure  it 
must  be  the  mother.  Anyhow,  it  seems  in  tune  with  the 
season  of  the  year  and  the  time  of  the  day.  It  always  puts 
me  in  mind  of  the  men  chopping  at  the  woodpile  down  at 
the  quarter,  and  the  black  children  gathering  chips,  and 
the  red  firelight  in  the  windows  of  the  house  and  in  the 
cabin  doors." 

"Yes,  that's  all  very  pretty,"  said  Ould,  with  a  delighted 
face,  "but  we  couldn't  get  it  all  into  a  picture.  No,  I  think 
Bob  White  does  better  as  a  dandy  beau  than  as  a  family 
man,  and  family  cares  are  not  poetical.  And  now  for  De 
cember  ?" 

"Oh,  the  redbird  for  December, — the  cardinal  as  you  call 
him, — with  holly  trees  and  berries,  or  Indian  arrow  with 
its  scarlet  buttons." 

"Yes,  my  Lord  Cardinal  Grosbeak  for  December;  and 
that  completes  our  calendar.  And  now  I  believe  we  might 
mark,  if  not  the  hours,  at  least  the  watches  of  the  night, 
by  the  crowing  of  the  cocks  and  the  cry  of  owls." 

"Oh,  don't  let  us  have  any  owls.  They  are  hateful  birds ! 
Before  Uncle  Rob  had  a  house  made  for  my  hens,  when 
they  slept  in  the  trees,  the  owls  carried  them  off.  Such 
a  pitiful  cry  as  the  poor  fowls  made  when  the  owls  were 
about,  I  never  heard.  One  night  they  all  flew  down  from 
the  trees  and  ran  to  the  house,  and  into  the  lighted  hall  for 
safety.  Even  Mr.  Kirby  hates  the  owls,  and  the  yellow- 
legged  hawks,  the  kites.  He  says  they  are  sneaks  and 
thieves.  But  the  red-tailed  hawk  that  catches  his  hens 
sometimes  is  so  handsome  and  so  bold,  and  makes  the 


164  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

other  hawks  stand  off  so,  that  he  half  likes  him,  as  we  do 
the  good  robber  in  the  'Children  in  the  Wood/  " 

Unused  to  young  girls,  and  therefore  with  a  daintier 
sense  of  their  sweet  ways,  Ould  was  much  moved  by  this 
prattle  of  Barbara.  He  looked  at  her  with  misty  eyes,  and 
putting  both  hands  upon  her  head  with  an  air  of  benedic 
tion,  said  "Come,  now,  and  play  for  me  again."  And  she 
whirled  about  her  seat  at  the  piano  and  played,  while  he 
reclined,  courting  once  more  the  enchantment  of  Mozart. 

The  reader  has,  perhaps,  had  something  too  much  of  talk 
about  birds.  Yet  this  chronicler  cannot  withhold,  while 
Mr.  Ould  is  listening  to  Mozart,  a  word  in  behalf  of  the 
owl.  While  the  nightingale  and  the  rook,  and  the  lark, 
and  other  foreign  birds  have  been  celebrated  by  our  poets, 
the  owl,  nowhere  finer  than  in  America,  has  not  had  justice 
at  their  hands.  Dwelling  under  the  dominion  of  Hecate 
and  the  night,  and  the  influence  of  the  stars,  and  associated 
with  the  vague,  unreal  terrors  of  darkness,  this  bird  would 
seem  a  valuable  accessory  to  poetry.  Yet  the  poets  use  him 
but  seldom  and  for  the  most  part  only  conventionally.  Per 
haps  because  they  do  not  know  him;  for  poets  are  not  all 
naturalists,  and  some  of  them  have  made  sad  blunders  in 
dealing  with  the  birds.  Of  the  owls  they  seem  to  know  but 
one,  a  little  mousing  European  bird  which,  with  its  cry, 
"too-whit,  too-whoo,"  has  become  the  conventional  owl  of 
poetry.  But  there  be  owls  and  owls,  as  we  that  have  dwelt 
in  the  wilds  well  know.  Has  ever  the  reader,  while  walk 
ing  alone  through  the  woods  at  night,  heard  the  ghostly 
cry  of  the  laughing  owl  ?  Or  has  he  seen  in  the  light  of  the 
waning  moon  the  great  horned  owl,  with  wings  and  tail 
outspread  in  a  circle,  wheel  over  him  in  noiseless  flight, 
or  heard  his  elfish  scream  ?  And  if  so,  has  he  not  wondered 
that  they  make  so  poor  a  figure  in  poetry?  Shakespeare 
employs  this  last  great  bird  at  times,  and  one  American 
poet  must  have  had  him  in  mind  while  writing  these  lines : 
"When  twilight  fades  and  evening  falls 

Alike  on  tree  and  tower, 
And  Silence,  like  a  pensive  maid, 

Walks  round  each  slumbering  bower; 
When  fragrant  flowrets  fold  their  leaves, 

And  all  is  still  in  sleep, 


Ould  and  Barbara  165 

The  horned  owl  on  moonlit  wing 

Flies  from  his  donjon  keep. 
And  he  cries  aloud,  "Too-whit — too-whoo,' 

And  the  nightingale  is  still, 
And  the  pattering  step  of  the  hurrying  hare 

Is  hushed  upon  the  hill; 
And  he  crouches  low  in  the  dewy  grass 

As  the  lord  of  the  night  goes  by, 
Not  with  a  loud  and  whirring  wing, 

But  like  a  lady's  sigh." 

Surely  there  is  here  genuine  poetry.  But  it  is  marred  and 
almost  spoiled  by  conventionalities.  In  all  our  land  there 
is  no  nightingale,  and  there  is  no  owl  that  cries  "too-whit — 
too-whoo."  Doubtless  the  poet  had  in  mind  the  great  horned 
owl,  for  to  none  other  can  be  fairly  given  that  fine  title 
"lord  of  the  night."  But  no  greater  solecism  can  be  com 
mitted  than  to  put  into  his  mouth  such  ornithological  cant 
as  "too-whit — too-whoo."  He  has  his  OAvn  ample  vocabulary ; 
three  distinct  cries.  First  a  piercing  whine  heard  far  away 
through  the  night;  second  an  elfish  shriek,  "waugh-ach, 
waugh-ach,  waugh-ach"  (with  which  he  often  descends 
within  the  light  of  the  hunter's  campfire),  frightful  enough 
to  alarm  a  garrison ;  and  last  his  normal  cry,  or  song,  with 
which  he  salutes  the  waning  night,  "Boof — boof !  Boof — 
boof !  (this  last  a  tremolo),  sounding  afar  like  the  tolling 
of  a  great  bell,  sending  a  tremor  through  the  woods.  This 
is  the  owl  of  Shakespeare  when  he  has  the  buskin  on;  the 
owl  that  screamed  in  the  hour  of  Duncan's  murder;  "the 
fatal  bellman  which  gives  the  stern'st  good-night." 

Why  will  our  American  poets  adhere  to  these  convention 
alities?  Why  should  the  crow  be  less  fit  for  poetry  than 
the  rook?  Why  go  abroad  for  the  nightingale,  while  we 
have  at  home  the  mocking-bird?  And  why,  oh  why,  shall' a 
little  European,  mousing  owl  speak  for  all  the  owls  the 
world  over?  Can  it  be  that  our  poets,  like  Mr.  Crummies 
in  the  provincial  theater,  play  only  to  the  "London  man 
ager"  ? 

It  is  this  adherence  to  conventionalities,  which  comes  of 
writing  from  books  instead  of  nature,  that  has  given  to 
American  poetry  its  second-hand  complexion,  and  made  it 
for  the  most  part  but  a  pale  reflex  of  the  poetry  of  other 
lands. 


CHAPTEE  XVI 

A  MILITARY   FUNERAL 

"Is  the  God  present,  felt  in  my  own  heart,  a  thing  which 
Herr  von  Voltaire  will  dispute  out  of  me,  or  dispute  into  me? 
This  is  belief;  all  else  is  opinion — for  which  latter,  whoso 
will,  let  him  worry  and  be  worried." 

To  THE  busy  household  at  Lastlands-^Mrs.  Thornton 
busy  with  her  corps  of  knitters  and  spinners,  and  Barbara 
busy  with  her  lessons  and  music — another  winter  had 
passed  rapidly  away.  Already  in  February,  on  the  sunny 
slopes  of  the  pastures  along  the  Anser,  had  appeared, 
evoked  by  the  winter  sun,  the  bright  green  of  the  blue- 
grass,  beguiling  the  eye  with  a  semblance  of  spring,  while 
that  coy  nymph  was  still  far  away;  and  in  March,  on  the 
little  island  in  the  stream,  and  in  springy  spots  where  only 
willows  grew,  had  been  seen  the  earliest  glint  of  her  eye. 
But  toward  the  end  of  March  frost  and  snows  had  inter 
vened,  and  she  seemed  to  have  fled  back  to  the  South.  And 
now  with  a  sudden  change  to  sunshine  and  soft  southerly 
winds,  April  seemed  to  spring  right  out  of  the  frozen  breast 
of  the  dead  winter.  A  week  of  continuous  good  weather 
had  made  the  pastures  all  green,  the  ground  was  warm  to 
the  touch  at  midday,  and  the  Anser  was  running  clear 
and  brimming,  when  Mr.  Ould  and  John  D.  and  Buttons 
made  their  appearance  at  Lastlands.  Mr.  Ould  had  come 
for  the  change  of  scene,  and  John  D.  and  Buttons  to  fish 
for  "suckers"  in  grounds  already  baited  by  old  Adam.  It 
was  Friday  evening,  and  on  Sunday  they  would  go  back 
to  town. 

Next  morning,  while  preparing  for  the  sport,  a  ball  of 
sea-grass  brought  out  by  John  D.  to  be  put  on  a  new  reel, 
was  missing,  and  though  diligently  sought,  could  nowhere 


A  Military  Funeral  167 

be  found.  It  was  discovered  at  last  in  the  possession  of 
Barbara's  cat,  who  had  carried  it  off,  and  after  having 
tossed  it  about  to  her  heart's  content,  had  entangled  herself 
in  the  line,  and  in  her  efforts  to  get  free  had  involved  it 
in  a  thousand  knots  and  involutions.  John  D.  having 
long  tried  in  vain  to  disentangle  it,  was  about  to  solve  the 
problem  with  his  knife,  when  Ould  came  upon  the  scene. 
"Stop.  What  are  you  about  ?"  he  cried.  "The  line  will  be 
spoiled  if  you  cut  it." 

"I  can't  untangle  it,"  said  John  D. 

"But  you  can,  if  you  will  have  patience ;  give  it  to  me." 
Then  Mr.  Ould  took  the  line  and  after  a  time  returned  it 
to  him  all  wound  smoothly  in  a  ball.  This  simple  lesson 
in  patience  the  young  man  never  forgot. 

When  they  returned  from  fishing,  John  D.,  seeing  Bar 
bara  on  the  lawn,  with  the  cat  on  her  arm,  went  toward 
her  to  show  his  string  of  fish.  As  he  drew  near  she  wore 
a  serious  face,  and  when  he  reached  out  to  take  her  cat 
she  held  it  away  on  one  arm,  while  with  the  other  she 
warded  him  off.  "Did  you  want  to  kill  my  cat,"  she  said, 
"because  she  tangled  your  line?  Buttons  says  you  did." 

"No,  Barb,  I  wouldn't  hurt  your  cat  nor  anything  that  is 
yours.  I  love  your  cat,  and  your  hens,  and  your  pigeons, 
and  everything  that  is  yours,  even  your  doll  Mary  Ormsby. 
Buttons  had  no  business  to  tell  you  of  my  foolish  speech. 
He  knew  I  had  no  notion  of  hurting  your  cat." 

"Well,"  said  Buttons,  who  stood  by,  "you  had  no  busi 
ness  to  say  you  were  going  to  kill  her,  if  you  had  no  notion 
of  doing  it.  I  like  to  see  a  fellow  do  a  thing,  when  he  says 
he's  going  to  do  it,  like  Bradstreet." 

"Bradstreet !"  exclaimed  John  D.  "What  do  you  know 
about  Bradstreet?" 

"I  know  enough  about  Bradstreet.  I  know  when  we  were 
coming  with  him  from  the  woods  that  hot  day,  and  were 
going  home  with  him  to  eat  popcorn,  and  he  saw  a  big 
grasshopper  fly  up  before  him  on  the  commons,  and  he  said, 
'I'm  going  to  kill  that  hopper,'  he  went  after  it,  and 
chased  it  away  across  the  commons,  and  across  a  field,  and 
out  of  sight,  and  we  got  tired  of  waiting  for  him  there, 
and  went  to  his  house  and  waited  in  the  kitchen " 


168  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"Yes,  I  remember/'  exclaimed  John  D.,  taking  the  story 
out  of  the  mouth  of  Buttons.  "Oh,  Barb,  it  was  too  funny ! 
Katy,  the  cook,  wouldn't  put  on  the  corn  till  he  came,  and 
we  waited  a  long  time,  and  were  thinking  of  giving  him 
up  and  going  home,  when  he  came  bursting  into  the 
kitchen,  puffing  and  blowing,  and  out  of  breath,  and  stam 
mered  out,  'Katy — popcorn — grasshopper — killed  him  at 
last!'  Bradstreet  was  a  foolish  fellow  to  keep  such  an 
idle  promise  made  to  himself,  as  you  are  now,  Mr.  Buttons, 
to  praise  him  for  it.  A  person  can't  do  a  better  thing 
than  to  break  such  a  promise,  except  never  to  make  one. 
Old  B.  knows  better  than  that  now." 

Barbara  was  pleased  by  John  D.'s  disclaimer  and  its 
wise,  moral  tone  with  which  he  concluded,  and  now  let 
him  take  her  cat  on  his  arm,  when  it  began  at  once  to 
reach  out  for  the  fishes,  its  eyes  glowing  with  fierce  eager 
ness  at  the  sight  of  them.  Then  John  D.,  taking  off  a 
fish,  gave  it  to  her,  when  she  began  to  struggle  violently 
in  his  hands,  and  being  set  down  upon  the  ground,  quickly 
bore  the  fish  away  into  the  shrubbery,  her  tail  held  straight 
aloft,  every  hair  erect,  growling  like  a  little  tigress.  Bar 
bara  and  John  D.  then  walked  away  together,  going  by 
the  kitchen  to  leave  the  fish  there,  and  thence  into  the 
old  garden,  where  they  found  the  gardener  and  old  Adam 
dressing  the  beds  of  peonies  and  bleeding  hearts  and  the 
long  rows  of  old-fashioned  hardy  roses. 

John  D.  and  Ould,  as  well  as  Buttons,  were  surprised  and 
pleased  at  the  increased  liveliness  imparted  to  Lastlands 
t>y  the  accession  of  Mrs.  Scudamore  and  Paul,  and  Mr. 
Wall,  and  had  listened  with  delight  to  the  music  by  Bar 
bara  and  the  old  violoncello  player.  They  found  their  visit 
only  too  short,  and  resolved  that  it  should  soon  be  re 
peated. 

Barbara  was  fast  growing  in  importance  in  the  Lastlands 
household.  For  a  long  time  before  the  removal  of  Thornton 
to  the  country  he  and  his  wife  had  well-nigh  given  up  all 
hope  of  offspring.  The  wife,  had  choice  been  given  her, 
would  have  had  a  son.  Barbara  was  sufficient  as  a  daugh 
ter,  but  a  son  would  have  filled  full  the  measure  of  her 
happiness.  Having  so  long  craved  this  blessing,  she  fell 


A  Military  Funeral  169 

into  an  innocent  cheat  upon  herself,  putting  upon  Barbara 
jackets  and  a  cap  and  feather,  and  calling  her  "our  young 
prince."  And  Thornton,  falling  in  with  this,  had  been 
accustomed  to  take  her,  thus  attired,  to  drive  with  him 
in  his  gig,  and  to  ride  on  horseback,  and,  providing  her 
with  suitable  apparel  of  flannel,  had  taught  her  to  swim 
and  to  dive  like  a  duck.  She  brought  this  bathing  attire 
to  Lastlands,  where  she  had  once  promised  herself  in  the 
summer  great  pleasure  in  the  clear  pools  of  the  Anser. 
But  she  had  put  it  away  with  other  male  attire.  When  that- 
princely  merchant  and  "preux  chevalier" — that  Irish  gen 
tleman,  Mr.  Robert  Ormsby,  brought  to  her  from  Phila 
delphia  a  splendid  doll,  named  in  his  honor  Mary  Ormsby 
(now  held-  in  due  respect  b}r  all  Lastlands,  and,  to  the 
delight  of  young  Africa,  still  accustomed  to  make  royal 
processions  through  the  quarter),  when  she  had  given  all 
her  time,  with  the  aid  of  her  aunt  (who  still  preserved 
the  doll  of  her  own  childhood),  to  dressing  and  adorning 
that  young  lady  of  porcelain  and  kid,  she  had  thrown  off 
cap  and  feather  and  other  male  insignia,  and  repudiated 
the  name  she  bore  in  her  character  of  "young  prince,"  and 
put  an  end  to  it,  as  Rob  Roy  did  to  his  assumed  name, 
when  he  said,  "Campbell  me  no  more,  my  name's  Mac- 
Gregor."  But  she  did  this  with  a  speech  as  gentle  and 
feminine  as  Rob's  was  robust  and  manly,  but  quite  as 
effective.  Ever  after  she  was  known  only  by  feminine 
appellatives,  which,  like  the  name  of  Sir  John  Falstaff, 
varied  with  the  persons  by  whom  she  was  addressed.  She 
was  "dear  Barbara"  to  Thornton  and  his  wife,  "Barb" 
to  John  D.  and  other  intimates,  "Eyes"  (short  for  All- 
eyes)  to  Buttons,  "Miss  Barbara"  to  the  servants  and  to 
old  Kirby  and  the  "hill  people,"  and  "Miss  Peyton"  to  all 
the  outside  world. 

She  had  long  borne  singular  sway  in  the  Thornton 
household — not  only  through  the  love  they  bore  her,  but 
by  her  intuitive  sense  of  right  and  wrong.  It  was  not 
often  that  any  grave  occasion  called  for  the  exercise  of 
this  fine  faculty,  and  her  judgment  was  employed  chiefly 
in  deciding  upon  the  grievances  of  the  household  servants, 
or  their  quarrels,  all  of  which  she  determined  like  an 


170  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

equity  judge.  But  graver  occasions  did  sometimes  occur, 
and  Thornton  had  come  insensibly  to  test  all  these  that 
were  doubtful  by  an  appeal  to  her.  Strangers  she  did 
not  favorably  impress.  They  looked  into  her  great,  steady 
hazel-gray  eyes  (lustrous  indeed,  but  so  big),  and  at  her 
large  mouth,  full  of  glistening  white  teeth,  but  so  large; 
her  black  hair  streaked  with  sunburned  locks;  her  tall, 
slender  shape,  in  which  a  sculptor  would  have  rejoiced  to 
find  a  model  for  a  naiad  or  a  sylph,  stately  withal,  but 
so  slender;  and  at  her  usual  unconventional  garb,  and  set 
her  down  as  an  unpromising  ward  and  probable  heir  of 
the  house  of  Thornton.  Moreover,  though,  from  mere 
force  of  habit  and  imitation,  she  could  go  through  the 
perfunctory  salutations  that  welcome  strangers,  yet  after 
these  she  was  apt  to  lapse  into  silence,  or  to  reply  in  mono 
syllables  to  such  commonplaces  as  strangers  are  accus 
tomed  to  address  to  young  people.  The  hollowness  of  these 
she  intuitively  felt,  and  having  no  skill  in  commonplaces 
beyond  the  formal  salutations  learned  by  rote,  she  took 
refuge  in  reserve.  But  at  such  times  she  bore  no  trace  of 
embarrassment,  nor  of  the  bored  look  which  is  apt  then  to 
take  possession  of  young  people,  nor  of  that  melancholy 
which  often  comes  even  upon  mature  people  brought  into 
contact  with  "society,"  and  depressed  by  its  continuous 
empty,  affected  chatter.  Only  quiet  repose  possessed  Bar 
bara  then,  which  nothing  could  disturb,  which,  while  it 
repelled  persistence  in  this  factitious  trifling,  was  resent 
fully  interpreted  as  dullness.  Thus  the  angel  of  the  Thorn 
ton  household — a  cygnet  wanting  only  time  to  unfold  its 
snowy  plumes — was,  in  the  eyes  of  the  mob  of  acquaint 
ances,  an  idol  of  clay  or  an  "ugly  duck." 

At  no  time  had  Thornton's  household  been  accustomed 
at  home  to  any  form  of  religious  exercise;  not  even  to  the 
perfunctory  form  of  giving  thanks  or  asking  a  blessing  at 
meals.  Perhaps  because  it  was  perfunctory.  In  town  he 
had  held  a  pew  in  the  church  and  had  always  made  liberal 
contribution  to  enterprises  connected  with  it.  His  wife 
and  Barbara  were  regular  attendants,  and  Barbara  was  a 
member  of  the  Bible-class.  But  Thornton  seldom  went 
to  church.  Not,  as  Ould  said,  from  any  lack  of  religious 


A  Military  Funeral  171 

feeling,  but  from  a  natural  want  of  demonstrativeness,  and 
as  to  this,  almost  absolute  reserve.  "No  man,"  he  said, 
"has  stronger  feeling  than  he,  and  no  man  that  I  know 
makes  so  little  manifestation  of  it.  As  to  reverence,  he 
shows  this  in  a  habit  of  ejaculatory  prayer,  the  most  genu 
ine  of  all  prayer,  coming  right  from  the  heart.  Shake 
speare  knew  this.  In  all  profane  letters  is  there  any  prayer 
like  that  ejaculatory  one  of  Ophelia  for  Hamlet  in  his 
distracted  state  ? — 'Help  him,  YE  SWEET  HEAVENS  !'  It  is 
both  praise  and  prayer.  Nay, 

"  'Prayer  is  the  burden  of  a  sigh, 

The  falling  of  a  tear, 
The  upward  glancing  of  an  eye, 
When  none  but  God  is  near.' 

No  one  intimate  with  Thornton  can  fail  to  know  that  he 
is  full  of  reverence.  There  are  men  incapable  of  mani 
festing  all  their  feelings,  and  he  is  one  of  them.  Let  him 
alone  and  he  will  come  all  right  in  time,  and  show  the 
faith  that  is  in  him." 

Mrs.  Thornton  and  Barbara  missed  in  the  country  the 
religious  services  to  which  they  had  been  accustomed  in 
town.  The  stillness  of  Sunday,  unbroken  by  the  sound  of 
church  bells,  was  an  emphatic  reminder  of  these.  Except 
the  stopping  of  the  work-of  the  plantation,  there  was  noth 
ing  to  indicate  the  holy  day.  Even  in  the  conduct  of  the 
wild  denizens  of  the  woods  and  the  fields,  the  squirrels 
and  the  birds,  eagerly  pursuing  the  business  of  their  lives, 
the  search  for  food,  unconscious  of  the  day,  there  was 
something  that  impressed  Barbara  with  the  Godlessness 
of  country  life.  She  had  spoken  of  this  to  her  aunt,  and 
they,  with  Mrs.  Scudamore,  had  consulted  together,  and 
concluded  that  the  wife  ought  to  speak  to  Thornton  about 
it,  and  suggest  some  form  of  household  worship.  Accord 
ingly,  she  did  sound  him  upon  the  subject,  by  asking  him 
if  he  did  not  miss  the  church  bells.  "Miss  them?"  he 
replied.  "Yes  indeed,  and  I  am  glad  to  miss  their  iron 
clang.  I  lived  too  long  close  by  two  churches  not  to  miss 
them;  two  sextons  in  rivalry  trying  to  ring  each  other 
out,  while  others,  in  different  keys,  all  jangled  out  of  tune, 


172  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

figured  in  to  help  the  confusion."  This  reply  discouraged 
the  wife,  and  she  said  no  more,  but  as  Ould  had  advised, 
let  him  alone. 

What  was  it  that  led  to  the  use  of  iron  hells  for  sum 
moning  people  to  the  worship  of  God?  Shakespeare  says, 
"the  never  merry  clock."  May  we  not  as  well  say,  "the 
ever  doleful  bell,"  the  "dreadful  bell,"  that  can  "fright 
an  isle  from  its  propriety";  the  signal  in  all  ages  and  in 
all  countries  of  some  dire  calamity — the  scenic  premoni 
tion,  on  the  stage,  of  some  incident  of  terror;  a  grievous 
annoyance  to  the  sick,  an  engine  of  torture  to  such  as  have 
disordered  nerves ! 

"In  the  silence  of  the  night, 
How  we  shiver  with  affright 

At.  the  melancholy  menace  of  their  tone! 
For  every  sound  that  floats 
From  the  rust  within  their  throats 

Is  a  groan." 

Far  different  are  the  minster  bells — sweet  bells  not 
jangled  out  of  tune,  but  in  accord,  and  in  harmony  with 
the  feeling  inspired  by  the  holy  day;  "a  music  that  can 
never  be  forgotten;  which  the  convert  knows  not  how  he 
can  forego/'  Can  it  be  that  these  rude,  monotonous  iron 
bells  are  the  survival  of  that  heathenish  age  which  taught 
only  by  appeals  to  low  motives;  when  terror  was  the  main 
engine  of  the  proselyter ;  when  a  God  of  love  was  unknown, 
and  men  knew  only  a  God  of  vengeance? 

At  this  time,  a  few  days  after  Mr.  Ould  and  John  D. 
and  Buttons  went  back  to  The  Falls,  died  Captain  Shelby ; 
a  man  of  singular  benevolence,  beloved  by  all.  To  the  last 
he  showed  the  same  tenderness  toward  all  creatures,  even 
such  as  are  commonly  reckoned  as  pests,  permitting  no 
cat  to  enter  his  chamber,  and  saving  on  his  plate  crumbs 
"for  the  little  mice."  He  was  older  than  was  generally 
supposed,  his  even  temper  and  natural  liveliness  of  dispo 
sition  having  preserved  in  him  the  savor  of  youth.  A  great 
concourse  of  people  from  The  Falls  and  the  surrounding 
country,  and  "all  Lastlands,"  attended  his  burial  at  Oak- 
leigh.  As  he  had  been  a  soldier  of  the  Revolution,  the 
officer  in  command  of  the  recruiting  station  at  The  Falls 


A  Military  Funeral  173 

attended  with  a  military  escort,  and  paid  the  usual  military 
honors.  From  this  funeral  Barbara  returned  strangely 
impressed  by  the  ceremonial.  All  the  way  homeward  she 
sat  silent,  in  solemn  meditation.  Arrived  at  Lastlands, 
she  went  quickly  into  the  house,  when  Thornton,  impressed 
and  disturbed  by  her  unusual  demeanor,  followed  after, 
and  discovered  her  alone  in  the  small  parlor  kneeling  in 
prayer.  Quickly  he  drew  back,  unseen,  now  in  his  turn 
stirred  by  unusual  emotion  at  sight  of  the  girl  in  soli 
tary  prayer. 

Next  morning  when  the  household  was  assembled  for 
breakfast,  and  about  to  sit  down,  Barbara,  standing  by 
her  chair,  said,  in  such  a  tone  as  at  once  arrested  Thorn 
ton's  attention :  "Uncle  I"  and  as  he  looked  at  her,  "why 
don't  you  give  thanks  before  meals  ?  Captain  Shelby  always 
did  it" 

Thornton,  looking  into  her  eyes,  after  a  momentary 
pause,  answered,  with  manifest  emotion,  "I  do  not  know 
any  proper  form  of  words." 

"May  I  do  it?" 

"Certainly,  dear  Barbara."  Then  she  bowed  her  head 
and  gave  thanks  with  such  simple,  tender  grace  as  touched 
all  hearts  and  was  borne  by  the  servants  in  waiting  to 
the  kitchen  below,  touching  as  well  the  emotional  spirits 
there.  Thenceforth  this  ceremonial  was  never  omitted  at 
Lastlands. 

Afterward,  when  Ould,  visiting  there,  witnessed  this 
ceremony,  supplemented  by  the  previous  reading  of  a  chap 
ter  from  the  Bible,  and  when  he  and  Thornton  were  alone 
together  and  Ould  congratulated  him  upon  the  wholesome 
change,  he  answered  apologetically :  "Well,  Barbara  wanted 
it.  In  fact,  I  think  it  is  a  very  good  practice,  if  only  for 
discipline.  It  makes  them  all  come  promptly  for  break 
fast,  which  I  was  not  able  to  enforce  before."  At  which 
Ould  smiled  broadly,  but  did  not  pursue  the  subject  further. 

The  incidents  which  seem  to  have  led  to  this  wholesome 
practice  in  the  household,  the  military  funeral  and  the 
sight  of  the  young  girl  in  solitary  prayer,  are  both  apt  to 
stir  the  heart  with  strong  and  peculiar  emotion.  Whoever 
has  seen  the  last  only  in  the  marble  effigy  of  Pompolini 


174  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

must  have  felt  what  it  is.  The  other  is  now  more  familiar. 
Philosophers  by  "victorious  analysis"  will  explain  this  emo 
tion  in  both  cases.  They  will  attribute  it  to  contrast — 
revulsion  of  feeling — reaction.  In  the  case  of  the  burial, 
the  military  escort,  its  "warlike  appointment/'  its  con 
strained,  formal  show  of  feeling,  the  led  horse  with 
empty  saddle,  the  furled  banner,  the  reversed  arms,  the 
muffled  drum,  are  contrasted  with  the  informal  civic  pro 
cession,  the  concourse  of  sorrowing  friends,  the  free-flowing 
grief  of  the  bereft  household.  In  the  other  case  the  care 
less  levity  associated  with  early  youth  is  contrasted  with 
an  act  so  solemn  as  speech  addressed  directly  to  God.  They 
may  further  explain  that  in  both  cases  the  emotion  is 
heightened  by  a  sense  of  the  beautiful,  reminding  us  of 
that  saying  of  Lord  Bacon,  that  all  exquisite  beauty  arises 
from  some  strangeness  of  proportion,  and  finding  in  these 
contrasts  that  strangeness  of  proportion.  Nay,  if  the  in 
quiry  be  pushed  further,  they  will  assure  us  that  the 
peculiar  emotion  in  these  cases  has  its  origin  in  an  element 
no  higher  than  that  which  wings  the  light  arrows  of  wit, 
and  pricks  us  to  laughter — the  incongrous — the  surprising 
— the  unexpected. 

Having  thus  seen  laid  bare  to  view  by  victorious  analy 
sis,  as  by  dissection,  the  secret  springs  of  our  emotion,  shall 
we  conclude  that  man  is  only  an  automaton,  and  the  hu 
man  heart,  with  its  thousand  complex  chords,  but  a  passive 
instrument,  responsive  as  an  ^Eolian  harp  to  each  extrava 
gant  and  erring  wind  that  wanders  by  ?  No,  by  no  means  ! 
There  is  an  easy  answer  to  this  sophistry.  We  know  that 
with  a  few  simple  elements  are  wrought  all  the  wonderful 
phenomena  of  life;  that  extremes  meet;  that  even  good 
pushed  to  extremity  becomes  evil;  that  here  in  the  realm 
of  metaphysics,  as  everywhere,  Nature  uses  the  same  aus 
tere  frugality,  employing  over  again  the  same  elements 
wrought  into  newer  and  more  complex  and  higher  combina 
tions.  But  we  need  only  to  remind  these  philosophers  of 
that  good  analytical  chemist,  but  bad  husband,  who  an 
swered  his  weeping  spouse,  "Madam,  tears  are  nothing  to 
me.  I  have  analyzed  them.  They  are  composed  of — parts 


A  Military  Funeral  175 

of  chloride  of  sodium — the    rest    water !"     Perhaps    we 
should  waste  upon  them  the  admonition  of  the  poet: 

"Hold  thou  thy  good,  define  it  well, 

For  fear  divine  Philosophy  :    ,' 

Should  push  beyond  her  work  and  be 
Procuress  to  the  Lords  of  Hell." 

Alas!  with  all  our  pretentious  "philosophy/'  how  little 
do  we  know  of  ourselves!  Of  the  soul,  who  will  say  that 
he  knows  anything?  And  of  the  heart  of  which  we  talk 
so  glibly — not  the  technical  heart  of  the  anatomist,  that 
muscular  pump  with  its  weird  automatic  movement;  this 
we  may  all  explore  and  partly  comprehend — but  of  that 
other  mysterious  entity,  invisible,  intangible,  immaterial, 
permeating  humanity  and  constituting  its  very  essence — 
what  do  we  know  ?  We  know  that  its  chords  stretch  every 
where  through  and  beyond  the  wide  domain  of  human  life, 
up  to  the  throne  of  God,  and,  alas !  down  to  the  gates  of 
hell.  We  know  that  it  has  a  language  everywhere  intelli 
gible,  one  syllable  of  which  shows  all  the  world  akin,  and 
that  in  this  lies  all  the  power  of  human  speech  and  its 
mighty  effects:  not  in  what  men  call  eloquence,  but  in 
feeling  hot  from  the  heart,  whose  phrase  bears  often  such 
an  emphasis  as  seems  indeed  to  "conjure  the  wandering 
stars,  and  make  them  stand  like  wonder-wounded  hearers." 
A  word  in  season — in  the  crisis  of  a  battle  or  a  debate — 
has  decided  the  fate  of  nations.  Nay,  in  default  of  words, 
a  passionate,  inarticulate  shriek  from  a  simple  man  in 
earnest  to  save  British  sailors  from  drowning  in  well  in 
sured  but  unseaworthy  ships,  silenced  even  the  opposing 
mockery  and  jeers  of  a  British  House  of  Parliament,  and 
achieved  this  end,  and  should  make  the  name  of  Plimsol 
memorable  forever. 

We  know  further  of  this  human  heart  that  it  is  weak 
in  isolation ;  that  it  has  peculiar  strength  when  two  or  more 
are  together  for  some  good  end;  that  in  multitudes  it 
gathers  increased  reverberated  power;  that  voiced  by  na 
tions,  its  utterance  is  answered  by  nations.,  as  deep  answer 
ing  unto  deep,  overwhelming  potentates  and  powers  and 
thrones  and  dynasties.  For  the  rest,  though  we  are  told 


176  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

that  the  heart  of  man  is  desperately  wicked,  yet  are  we 
taught  also  that  out  of  it  are  the  issues  of  life.  Its  vision 
is  beyond  the  ken  of  logic  and  all  that  the  mind  conceives 
in  the  "mad  pride  of  intellectuality."  Through  it  alone 
we  hold  communion  with  things  beyond  this  life  on  earth. 
Through  it  we  know  that  "God  is  love:" 

"I  found  him  not  in  world  or  sun, 
Or  eagle's  wing,  or  insect's  eye, 
Nor  through  the  questions  men  may  try, 
The  petty  cobwebs  men  have  spun: 

"If  e'er,  when  faith  had  fall'n  asleep, 
I  heard  a  voice,  'Believe  no  more,' 
And  heard  an  ever-breaking  shore 
That  tumbled  in  the  godless  deep — 

"A  warmth  within  the  breast  would  melt 
The  freezing,  reason's  colder  part, 
And,  like  a  man  in  wrath,  the  heart 
Stood  up  and  answer'd,  'I  have  felt.' " 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MAJOK  TINSLEY 
"Sir,  you  are  very  welcome  to  our  home." 

MUCH  of  Thornton's  time  had  been  passed  in  looking 
over  his  father's  papers.  He  was  surprised  by  the  extent 
of  his  scheme  for  making  a  complete  country  home,  and  by 
the  exactness  with  which  he  found  his  plans  recorded  and 
explained.  A  general  map,  on  parchment,  showed  a  sub 
division  of  the  Lastlands  tract  into  three  parcels.  Of  that 
parcel  containing  the  homestead  there  was  a  particular 
subdivision  into  permanent  pasture  and  arable  lands,  indi 
cation  being  made  on  the  margin  for  a  system  of  rotation 
in  the  crops  of  these  last,  the  contents  of  each  exactly  stated 
in  acres,  poles  and  links,  and  the  courses  and  distances  of 
the  lines  of  fencing  accurately  measured  by  compass  and 
chain.  All  the  wide  valley  through  which  the  Anser  wound, 
with  the  slopes  on  either  side,  were  indicated  as  perma 
nent  pasture  land.  Clumps  of  young  trees  left  there  to 
grow,  hickories  and  walnuts,  and  pecans,  and  hackberries, 
and  box-elders,  were  all  indicated.  These  had  spread  into 
luxuriant  growth,  and  the  valley  now  presented  a  delightful 
prospect.  A  large  portion  of  the  great  wood  on  the  north 
was  indicated  by  a  line,  underscored  as  land  from  which 
"not  a  switch  should  be  cut." 

Of  the  orchards  and  the  fruit  gardens  were  found  maps 
showing  by  numbered  rows  and  an  index  where  each  variety 
stood ;  and  in  the  same  way  was  indicated  even  the  shrub 
bery  on  the  lawn. 

Architectural  work  was  shown  in  drawings  of  the  unfin 
ished  mansion  and  the  cattle  barn,  and  a  site  was  indicated 
for  a  herdsman's  cottage.  Many  quarries  had  been  opened, 
and  dressed  stones  were  scattered,  at  intervals,  under  the 

177 


178  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

shade  of  trees,  in  many  places.  By  the  branch,  near  the 
cattle  barn,  was  a  quarry,  where  in  low  water  a  fine  layer 
of  stone  lay  exposed,  from  which  had  been  taken  material 
for  the  barn  and  the  abutments  of  a  bridge  over  the  branch, 
and  from  the  refuse  of  which  had  been  made  the  wall  about 
the  barnyard.  Two  kilns  of  bricks  stood  untouched,  and 
two  large  piles  of  sawn  lumber,  and  many  heavy  hewn  tim 
bers,  all  protected  from  the  weather  by  coverings  of  boards ; 
and  all  were  sound,  except  at  the  base  of  the  lumber  piles, 
where  dogs  scratching  in  pursuit  of  hares  had  thrown 
the  earth  upon  the  boards  and  caused  decay.  Everywhere 
were  marks  of  the  providence  of  a  man  whose  thoughts 
were  habitually  on  the  future.  Thornton  was  puzzled  to 
know  for  what  particular  purpose  many  of  these  things 
had  been  provided;  a  reminder,  and  a  wholesome  check 
upon  his  own  inherited  infirmity.  The  more  he  studied 
his  father's  plans,  the  greater  interest  he  felt  in  them. 
They  revealed  to  him  new  and  enlarged  views  of  country 
life.  Poring  over  these  and  his  journal,  he  imbibed  more 
and  more  of  the  father's  taste,  until,  insensibly,  the  passion 
of  his  life  entered  his  own  breast.  He  would  make  Last- 
lands  what  his  father  designed  it  to  be,  and  something 
more.  But  this  would  require  money.  He  had  once  made 
money  without  taking  thought  about  it.  Now  he  would 
think  of  it. 

One  morning  in  May,  while  he  was  overlooking  the 
ploughing  of  a  field  for  hemp,  a  stranger  rode  into  the 
field.  Stopping  his  horse  for  a  moment  to  make  inquiry 
of  one  of  the  men,  he  then  rode  directly  to  where  Thornton 
sat  on  his  horse.  "Good-morning,  Mr.  Thornton,"  he  said ; 
"I  am  Mr.  Ealph"  (B-aiph,  he  called  it)  "Tinsley,  and  am 
going  to  be  your  neighbor,  as  yon  know." 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Tinsley,"  replied  Thornton, 
extending  his  hand.  "I  have  called  several  times  at  your 
place,  hoping  to  find  you  there,  but  failed." 

"Yes,  so  I  learned.  I  have  not  been  here  since  the  build 
ing  was  begun.  I  employed  a  man  to  superintend  the  work, 
because  I  am  obliged,  on  account  of  the  delicate  health  of 
my  wife,  ta  be  at  home  most  of  the  time.  Indeed,  I  am 
here  now  for  only  a  day,  and  must  start  back  to-morrow. 


Major  Tinsley  179 

I  have  come  only  to  thank  you  for  your  visits,  and  especially 
for  the  excellent  suggestions  you  made  to  my  superintend 
ent  about  the  building.  He  thinks  you  the  best  architect 
he  ever  met.  And,  from  the  suggestions  you  made,  and  the 
glimpse  I  have  had  of  your  own  house  and  farm  buildings, 
I  think  he  must  be  in  the  right." 

"Well,  come  with  me  to  the  house,  and  stay  to  dinner 
with  us,  and  let  me  show  you  what  I  have  done.  The  house 
is  the  work  of  my  father,  and  some  of  the  best  features 
in  the  farm  buildings  have  been  borrowed  from  my  neigh 
bor,  Mr.  Vaughn.  Some  of  the  ornamental  plantations  are 
the  designs  of  my  wife.  I  can  claim  credit  only  for  clear 
ing  away  the  weeds,  and  straightening  the  fences  and  the 
gates,  and  a  general  repairing  of  the  walks  and  roadways. 
The  place  was  like  a  wilderness  when  I  came  here.  In  this 
neighborhood  much  interest  is  now  taken  in  the  embellish 
ment  of  the  farms  and  plantations,  and  its  general  appear 
ance  has  been  very  much  improved.  A  little  thought  given 
to  the  position  and  form  of  farm  buildings  adds  much  to 
the  general  appearance  of  the  place,  as  well  as  to  the  com 
fort  and  health  of  the  animals  sheltered  by  them.  And  a 
little  care  about  the  ornamentation  of  the  grounds  adds 
greatly  to  the  pleasure  and  happiness  of  the  household. 
This  neighborhood  is  attracting  more  attention  since  the 
turnpike  has  come  under  good  management  and  is  kept 
in  good  order.  Captain  Shelby  talked  of  coming  out  to 
live  permanently  at  his  place  with  his  son-in-law,  Mr. 
Sterrett,  and  I  look  to  see  the  society  here  increased  by 
other  accessions  from  The  Falls.  I  shall  try  to  set  a  good 
example,  and  hope  to  see  it  followed  and  improved  upon  by 
all  who  may  come." 

"Well,  I  shall  do  my  best.  I  shall  be  glad  to  avail  my 
self  of  your  taste  and  skill.  I  have  been  a  combined  planter 
and  trader  for  the  greater  part  of  my  life,  but  I  never  took 
much  thought  about  ornamentation.  I  have  lived  most  of 
the  time  in  a  tobacco  region,  where  everything  gives  place 
to  one  absorbing  crop — tobacco.  The  culture  of  this  is 
pretty  thorough,  but  everything  else  is  there  neglected. 
Tobacco  requires  so  much  manipulation,  that  there  is 
hardly  time  for  any  other  'work,  and  the  farm  buildings 


180  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

and  the  fences  axe  apt  to  go  to  wrack  and  decay.  In  fact, 
tobacco  is  a  thirteen  months'  crop  at  least,  and  the  planter 
finds  the  labor  of  every  year  lapping  over  the  next  follow 
ing,  and  he  is  thus  always  pushed,  to  the  neglect  of  every 
thing  but  the  one  important  staple.  A  tobacco  region  is 
never  a  region  of  neat  farming,  and  the  horses  and  cows, 
having  little  care,  present  but  a  sorry  appearance.  Hardly 
any  tobacco  planter  has  even  a  meadow,  buying  hay  for 
his  horses  during  the  plowing  season,  and  for  the  rest  rely 
ing  upon  what  little  grass  grows  spontaneously,  and  upon 
a  scant  supply  of  corn  and  fodder.  Milk  and  butter  are 
generally  scarce  luxuries  there  in  winter.  I  expect  to  keep 
fine  stock  here,  and  will  put  most  of  my  land  in  grass.  I 
want  to  have  as  little  care  and  as  much  leisure  as  possible, 
with  just  enough  work  to  maintain  an  interest  in  the  busi 
ness,  and  to  keep  me  from  absolute  idleness.  I  have  done 
my  share  of  work  as  a  tobacco  planter  and  a  tobacco  dealer, 
and  a  trader  in  many  forms — in  land  and  live  stock,  and  in 
tobacco,  and  having  now  as  much  worldly  gear  as  I  care 
to  have,  I  desire  to  pass  the  remnant  of  my  days  in  a  neigh 
borhood  where  social  intercourse  shall  be  the  chief  pleasure 
of  my  life.  I  may  make  a  venture  now  and  then  in  tobacco, 
in  town,  or  in  stock  for  grazing,  here;  but  I  shall  never 
again  settle  myself  into  any  regular  train  of  business — only 
make  an  irregular  sally,  when  I  may  think  I  see  a  good 
opportunity.  Whatever  I  may  do,  I  have  come  here  to 
stay." 

This  talk  went  on  as  they  rode  toward  the  house,  and 
Thornton  had  a  fair  opportunity  to  observe  the  stranger. 
He  was  a  large  man,  of  full  figure,  with  an  appearance 
of  great  solidity  and  strength.  His  seat  in  the  saddle  was 
easy  and  graceful,  and  the  management  of  his  horse,  a 
powerful  roan,  with  black  points,  indicated  long  practice 
as  a  rider.  He  wore  a  substantial  suit  of  gray  cloth,  stout 
beaver  gloves,  and  carried  a  heavy  leather  whip,  loaded  at 
the  handle,  which  shone  with  the  polish  of  long  use.  He 
was  clean-shaven,  and  his  linen  was  unexceptionable.  His 
blond  complexion  and  light  hair  sprinkled  with  gray,  and 
bright  blue  eyes  that  shone  with  both  humor  and  sense, 
gave  his  countenance  a  very  animated  and  pleasing  expres- 


Major  Tinsley  181 

sion.  He  was  a  man  verging  on  sixty,  whom  no  one  could 
see  without  thinking  that  he  must  have  been  very  hand 
some  in  youth. 

As  they  approached  the  house,  the  stranger's  eyes  were 
busy  scanning  the  premises,  taking  note  of  everything — 
the  covered  well,  the  ice  house,  the  cisterns,  the  wood- 
house,  the  sheltered  hitching  place  for  horses,  and  other 
like  conveniences  made  by  Thornton.  Dismounting  near 
the  hitching  shed,  where  old  Tom  came  to  take  their  horses, 
they  entered  at  the  rear  of  the  house  Mrs.  Thornton's  flower 
garden.  The  ground,  descending  there  by  a  regular  de 
clivity,  had  been  thrown  into  two  large  terraces  next  the 
house,  and  thence  in  smaller  terraces  fell  away  to  the  Anser, 
where  an  abrupt  rock  bank,  with  a  low  stone  wall  laid  upon 
it,  made  the  boundary  line.  The  beds  had  all  been  dug 
and  raked,  and  the  borders  trimmed  and  dressed,  and 
though  there  was  but  little  bloom — only  tulips  and  other 
bulbous  plants,  and  peonies  and  bleeding  hearts — yet  the 
honeysuckles  were  full  of  tender  leaves,  and  the  clematis 
was  reaching  upward,  grasping  the  trellis  with  its  delicate 
fingers,  and  the  garden  was  already  full  of  beauty  that 
comes  of  cleanliness  and  order  and  promise.  Extensive 
beds  of  early  roses  were  now  in  leaf  and  bud,  forecasting 
ample  bloom,  and  the  borders  of  close-shaven  blue-glass 
glistened  as  only  blue-grass  can  glisten  in  Kentucky  in 
the  month  of  May. 

The  stranger  looked  with  surprise  at  this  exhibition  of 
beauty,  muttering :  "And  in  the  back  yard  !"  And  when 
he  walked  upon  the  veranda,  and  saw,  far  away  down  the 
valley,  the  Anser  winding  through  the  wide  pastures,  and 
then  looked  beyond,  up  the  broad  ascending  slope  to  the 
great  woods,  now  in  their  pale  green  livery,  he  gave  expres 
sion  to  both  surprise  and  delight.  "Why/'  he  exclaimed, 
"this  will  be  like  fairyland  in  June." 

"This  garden/'  said  Thornton,  "was  laid  off  by  my 
father,  but  the  plantation  of  flowers  is  my  wife's  work. 
The  roses  and  bulbs  were  brought  from  town,  where  she 
had  a  fine  collection,  and  many  more  have  been  added  from 
the  garden  of  my  neighbor,  Mr.  Davis." 


182  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"But  you  had  already  a  large  garden  which  we  passed 
on  the  way  here." 

"Yes ;  that  is  the  vegetable  garden — the  kitchen  garden — 
made  long  ago  by  my  father.  We  could  not  do  without 
that.  It  is  underdrained  and  has  been  trenched  and  ma 
nured  for  many  years,  and  is  very  productive,  and  furnishes 
all  our  vegetables.  It  is  an  old-fashioned  garden  with  some 
small  fruits  and  some  espaliers,  and  contains  a  little  of  ev 
erything — camomile  and  sage,  and  all  the  medicinal  plants 
valued  by  the  old  women  of  the  country.  My  father  used 
to  supply  them,  and  they  still  come  for  them.  Like  the 
Indians,  the  old  women  keep  always  among  them  a  medi 
cine  bag." 

"Yes,  and  I  would  rather  trust  the  old  woman's  bag 
than  the  pharmacopseia  of  the  doctors." 

"We  are  apt  to  feel  that  way  when  in  full  health,  but 
when  we  get  sick,  we  are  pretty  sure  to  send  for  the  doc 
tor." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Major,  with  a  merry  chuckle,  "we  do. 
Still,  I  think  the  doctors  profess  too  much,  and  that  our 
faith  in  them  is  a  kind  of  superstition.  I  learned  this 
by  living  a  long  time  out  of  reach  of  any  doctor,  having 
to  rely  on  the  simples  of  the  old  woman's  bag,  which  I 
found  as  effective  as  the  medicine  of  the  doctor,  when  he 
was  close  at  hand,  and  was  called  in  for  every  finger  ache. 
Yet,  as  you  say,  we  send  for  them.  It  is  something  like 
the  case  in  the  old  rhyme: 

"  'The  Devil  was  sick,  the  Devil  a  monk  would  be; 
The  Devil  got  well,  the  Devil  a  monk  was  he.' " 

"But  the  Devil's  ailing  must  have  been  a  spiritual  one, 
and  I  fear  that  the  spiritual  doctors  are  also  overrated. 
Both  have  fallen  away  in  usefulness,  from  a  desire  to 
dignify  their  callings  in  the  eyes  of  the  vulgar;  the  phy 
sicians  by  erecting  into  the  'science  of  medicine'  what  was 
once  called,  with  proper  modesty  and  truth,  'the  healing 
art' ;  and  the  spiritual  doctors  by  erecting  into  the  'science 
of  theology'  what  was  the  simple  'teaching  of  the  Gospel' : 
wandering  away  from  this  into  the  mazes  and  puzzles  of 
metaphysics."  Here  the  Major  nodded  assent,  and  the 


Major  Tinsley  183 

two  gentlemen  laughed  with  the  air  of  illuminati.  After 
ward  when,  after  many  discursions.  their  talk  came  back 
to  this  theme,  and  Thornton  said  that  he  had  been  bap 
tized  into  the  Church  and  that  he  could  then  repeat  all 
the  religious  lessons  learned  at  his  mother's  knee,  and  many 
memorized  from  the  prayer-book,  the  Major  confessed  to 
a  record  precisely  similar,  and  the  two  gentlemen  laughed 
again,  this  time  with  the  air  of  two  'men  of  mature  age 
interchanging  confidences  about  peccadilloes  of  their  youth. 

It  was  the  fashion  in  that  day  for  gentlemen  to  be  skep 
tical,  and  to  speak  lightly  of  the  "cloth,"  and  to  put  on 
the  airs  of  illuminati.  Many  of  them  had  imbibed  with 
their  political  opinions  hostility  to  the  dogmas  of  religion, 
and  the  French  colony  at  The  Falls  having  brought  with 
them  much  of  the  infidelity  and  irreverence  of  revolution 
ary  France,  this  leaven  was  spread  widely,  though  super 
ficially,  among  the  cultivated  classes.  Both  these  gentlemen 
had  now  expressed  sentiments  that  were  merely  conven 
tional.  For  among  these  Virginia  colonists,  most  of  whom 
had  been  reared  in  its  fold,  there  was  a  strong  feeling  of 
loyalty  to  the  Church  of  England ;  and  when  Thornton  was 
afterward  giving  Major  Tinsley  an  account  of  the  doings 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  told  him  that  they  had  designed 
to  put  up  a  church  building,  for  which  his  father  had  pro 
vided  a  site,  and  he  himself  had  now  furnished  a  plan  and 
estimates — "The  Church  of  St.  John  in  the  Wilderness" — 
and  that  it  still  lacked  money,  the  Major  said  at  once,  "I 
will  give  money  toward  it." 

"Only  money  for  the  steeple  is  lacking,"  said  Thornton. 
"When  the  house  is  tenantable  we  shall  have  the  service 
read  there  by  a  lay  reader.  Some  day  we  hope  to  have  an 
organized  parish,  a  full  congregation,  and  a  rector.  Come 
in,  and  let  me  show  you  the  drawing  of  our  building." 

Then  going  into  the  library,  Thornton  exhibited  the 
drawing,  showing  a  graceful  church  building  with  its  stee 
ple,  when  the  Major  eagerly  exclaimed:  "Put  me  down 
for  the  steeple.  I  will  pay  for  it  myself.  But  pray  let  us 
have  all  free  pews.  Let  us  somehow  get  into  the  funda 
mental  law  of  the  parish  a  provision  against  the  selling 
of  pews.  I  never  could  abide  the  practice  of  selling  seats 


184  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

in  the  temple  of  God.  It  will  make  Pharisees  if  they  be 
not  already  in  the  Church.  I  have  not  been  in  many  years 
a  church-goer,  though  bred  in  its  fold,  but  my  wife  is  a 
strict  churchwoman.  We  sent  more  than  a  hundred  miles 
for  a  parson  to  christen  our  daughter,  and  the  Book  of 
Common  Prayer  has  been  read  daily  in  our  house.  While 
I  was  in  the  habit  of  going  away,  in  the  course  of  my  busi 
ness,  on  long  journeys  to  the  South,  and  was  often  absent 
for  months,  I  was  sure  always  to  find  a  copy  of  this  book 
in  my  saddle-bags,  and  when  the  hours  came  at  which  they 
were  accustomed  to  read  prayers  at  home,  I  often  took  it 
out  and  read  at  the  same  time.  It  was  a  great  satisfaction 
to  me  to  feel  that,  though  so  far  apart,  we  were  yet  united 
in  prayer  to  God;  and  to  know  with  what  tender  emphasis 
they  would  read  from  the  litany  that  petition  in  behalf  of 
'all  who  travel  by  land  or  by  water/  Yes,  indeed,"  looking 
again  at  the  drawing,  "put  me  down  for  the  steeple.  Why, 
you  must  know  there  is  nothing  that  gives  me  more  pleasure 
than  the  sight  of  a  church  steeple.  When  I  was  a  trader, 
making  long  journeys  with  horses  and  mules  to  the  South, 
often  returning  alone  with  large  sums  of  money,  I  suffered 
grievous  apprehension  of  being  beset  by  the  bands  of  law 
less  men  that  then  infested  the  intermediate  country,  and 
often  changed  my  route  in  coming  back,  lest  they  should 
waylay  me.  But  when  I  came  into  a  strange  settlement, 
and  saw  there  one  of  those  steeples  pointing  to  the  sky, 
it  always  put  me  in  heart;  for  I  knew  then  that  the  good 
people  ruled  there.  Yes,"  looking  again  at  the  drawing, 
"put  me  down  for  the  steeple,  and  call  on  me  whenever  the 
money  is  needed." 

Then,  under  Thornton's  guidance,  Major  Tinsley  in 
spected  the  interior  of  the  unfinished  Lastlands  mansion. 
"Well,"  he  said,  "this  is  a  grand  house ;  far  above  anything 
I  care  about  for  myself,  and  I  don't  intend  to  build  for 
my  children.  They  may  not  like  country  life,  and  fine 
houses  in  the  country  never  bring  a  tithe  of  their  cost  when 
sold.  But  I  shall  try  to  copy  the  many  conveniences  you 
have  here.  I  shall  need  one  cistern,  for  instance,  but  with 
water  at  your  door,  I  can't  see  what  need  you  have  for 
three," 


Major  Tinsley  185 

"We  need  them  for  the  laundry.  The  Anser  is  muddy 
at  times,  and  its  water  is  never  soft  and  clear,  like  the 
rain  water." 

"To  be  sure!  to  be  sure!  And  the  ladies  like  to  have 
their  laces  and  delicate  stuffs  washed  and  rinsed  in  soft, 
clear  water,  and  without  a  fleck  on  them.  To  be  sure,  this 
ought  to  be  always  considered.  My  daughter  always  likes 
rain  water  for  that,  but  we  kept  only  a  large  rain  barrel. 
I  shall  certainly  have  one  or  more  cisterns." 

Major  Tinsley  not  only  dined  at  Lastlands,  but  passed 
the  night  there.  He  was  greatly  pleased  with  the  house 
hold,  and  charmed  by  Barbara,  to  whom  he  gave  much 
attention,  taking  marked  interest  in  her  prattle,  which  was 
brought  into  unusual  freedom  by  the  genial  manners  of 
the  stranger.  Both  Thornton  and  his  wife  were  struck 
by  his  marked  interest  in  Barbara,  accompanied  as  it  was 
by  a  strange  look  of  sadness.  And  they  were  struck  as 
well  by  the  sympathetic  response  of  Barbara,  whose  man 
ner  was  usually  reserved  with  strangers. 

The  Major  talked  freely  of  his  family,  consisting  of  a 
wife  and  two  children,  a  young  woman,  and  a  son  just 
come  to  manhood.  But  he  talked  almost  exclusively  of 
the  daughter,  relating  many  anecdotes  of  her  childhood 
and  early  youth,  and  she  seemed  plainly  to  be  his  favorite 
child. 

Next  morning  he  went  away  home,  promising  to  double 
the  force  of  workmen  on  his  house,  that  he  might  at  an 
early  day  come  to  dwell  in  a  neighborhood  so  congenial 
to  his  taste. 


CHAPTEE  xviii      '.'•;;;;' 

JOY  AT  LASTLANDS 

"He  maketh  the  barren  woman  to  keep  house  and  to  be  a 
joyful  mother  of  children." — Ps.  cxii:  8. 

VERT  unexpected  circumstances  soon  changed  the  whole 
current  of  Robert  Thornton's  life,  and  put  into  his  breast 
new  hope,  and  new  and  enlarged  views  of  the  future.  "There 
was  no  mistake — no  doubt  about  it" — Mrs.  Scudamore 
said,  "there  is  going  to  be  an  heir  to  the  house  of  Thorn 
ton."  Mysterious  messages  went  back  and  forth  between 
Digby's  house  in  town  and  Lastlands.  Digby's  wife  went 
out  there  and  stayed  several  days,  and  thereafter  her  visits 
became  very  frequent.  The  two  households  were  in  a  flut 
ter  of  anxious  but  pleasurable  excitement.  Thornton  had 
a  new  face.  He  did  not  give  his  usual  attention  to  the 
plantation.  He  seemed  abstracted,  and  often  left  the 
ground  where  important  work  was  going  on.  Very  soon 
the  cause  of  this  became  known  to  all,  and  the  work  was 
none  the  worse  for  his  absence. 

He  grew  anxious,  as  time  advanced,  and  would  hardly 
have  his  wife  stir  in  the  house,  desiring  her  to  turn  over 
to  Mrs.  Scudamore  all  household  matters.  But  that  good 
lady  knew  better,  and  overruled  him.  "Don't  change  your 
habits,"  she  said,  "don't  take  any  unusual  exercise,  but 
go  straight  on  as  before;  only  let  us  have  a  little  more 
amusement  and  diversion  on  foot  than  usual." 

When  the  eventful  day  was  yet  a  month  off,  Mrs.  Digby 
went  out  to  Lastlands.  It  had  been  long  ago  arranged 
by  the  sisters  that  the  "event,"  as  it  had  come  to  be  called, 
should  occur  in  Digby's  house  in  town,  where  a  physician 
and  experienced  nurse  could  be  had  at  a  moment's  notice. 
And  so,  after  two  days,  the  sisters  were  placed  in  Thorn- 

186 


Joy  at  Lastlands  187 

ton's  carriage,  and  with  old  Tom  on  the  box,  and  'little 
Dick"  behind,  it  rolled  away,  freighted  with  love  and  hope 
and  tender  solicitude.  In  town  it  was  driven  to  Digby's 
house,  where  its  precious  burden  was  safely  bestowed.  In 
a  large,  cheerful  room,  provided  with  every  conceivable 
comfort,  and  overlooking  the  most  frequented  promenade 
of  the  little  town,  Thornton's  precious  wife  grew  cheerful, 
and  awaited  with  reasonable  equanimity  the  great  event 
of  her  life. 

It  was  not  long  before  Thornton  was  summoned  to  town. 
He  had  left  it  more  than  a  year  before,  shaking  its  dust 
from  his  feet,  with  a  resolution  not  to  go  again  within 
its  limits,  except  under  some  imperious  necessity.  On  the 
way  he  could  not  help  revolving  in  his  mind  all  the  un 
happy  details  of  his  misfortunes  there.  The  bitter  feeling 
toward  individuals  by  whom  he  thought  he  had  been  ill- 
used,  had  died  out,  for  he  was  incapable  of  nursing  malevo 
lence,  but  he  still  bore,  if  not  a  "lodged  hate,"  yet  a  certain 
loathing  of  the  town,  "the  infernal  town,"  as  he  had  called 
it  in  his  moments  of  heat.  It  would  have  puzzled  him 
to  make  specification  of  his  grievances.  Like  all  men  of 
public  spirit,  who  have  done  the  state  some  service,  he 
overrated  the  benefits  he  had  conferred  on  the  community, 
and  in  the  same  degree  exaggerated  the  ingratitude  of  the 
public.  In  truth,  he  had  been  very  highly  valued  by  the 
people  of  the  town.  Recognition  of  his  public  services  had 
been  manifested  by  the  board  of  trustees,  who  by  resolution 
had  thanked  him  for  the  skill  with  which  he  had  planned 
and  superintended  the  erection  of  certain  public  buildings ; 
and  they  had  offered  him  pay  for  these  services,  which  he 
had  refused  to  accept.  Did  he  blame  the  community,  that 
vague  entity  which  has  no  executive  power,  for  not  coming 
to  his  aid  and  saving  his  property  from  sale  ?  No,  no ;  he 
had  nobody  to  blame  but  himself.  He  had  incautiously,  as 
over-sanguine  men  are  apt  to  do,  gone  into  a  losing  busi 
ness,  entailing  debt,  and  the  financial  storm  coming  on, 
found  him  in  such  deep  water  that  no  friend  he  had  was 
strong  enough,  without  imminent  peril  to  himself,  to  go  to 
his  rescue.  Digby  was  deeply  involved  in  the  general  com 
mercial  trouble  and  could  not  help  him.  Two  friends, 


188  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Captain  Shelby  and  Joe  Sterrett,  had  offered  their  credit 
and  every  dollar  they  had,  but  he  had  declined  to  accept 
their  imprudent  offers.  Surely  he  was  a  fortunate  man 
to  possess  two  such  friends  as  these.  And  he  was  more  a 
man  of  the  world  than  to  count  as  friends  all  those  who 
had  nattered  or  fawned  upon  him  in  the  days  of  his  pros 
perity,  or  to  reckon  in  that  category  the  many  persons  with 
whom  he  had  found  himself  closely  associated,  and  with 
whom  the  common  social  law  required  him  to  exchange 
"the  small  sweet  courtesies  of  life."  Did  he  blame  his 
creditors  for  a  want  of  forbearance?  It  would  have  been 
better  for  him  if  they  had  used  less  forbearance,  and  had 
forced  him  to  an  earlier  settlement.  Then  a  lesson  in  pru 
dence  might  have  been  taught  him,  and  a  catastrophe 
averted.  But,  in  another  sense,  it  was  better  for  him  as 
it  happened.  He  had  been  removed  from  associations  that 
were  fast  leading  to  vice,  and  placed  in  a  new  field,  and 
had  acquired  there  new  energy  and  vigor.  He  had  learned 
"the  sweet  uses  of  adversity."  He  had  been  taught  that 
wholesome  lesson  that  happiness  does  not  lie  along  "the 
primrose  path  of  dalliance/'  and  that  it  is  not  purchasable 
with  money.  His  brother  Dick  had  correctly  diagnosed  his 
case,  when  he  said  that  what  Bob  lacked  was  a  plan  of 
life — one  that  would  be  worthy  enough  to  fill  his  whole 
mind  and  wide  enough  to  last  all  his  days.  Without  this 
a  man  only  drifts  like  a  seaweed  along  the  ocean  of  life, 
borne  hither  and  thither  by  wind  and  wave,  with  no  better 
fate  in  store  than  to  be  stranded  in  some  sunshiny  cove, 
and  there  grow  like  "the  fat  weed  that  roots  itself  in  ease 
on  Lethe's  wharf." 

These  reflections  occupied  Thornton's  mind  as  he  rode 
to  town.  He  passed  by  his  former  home,  now  occupied 
by  strangers,  not  only  without  any  feeling  of  regret,  but 
with  a  sense  of  aversion,  as  to  a  memento  of  his  past  pur 
poseless  life.  When  he  reached  Digby's  house  he  had  set 
tled  into  a  philosophic  mood,  dismissed  his  resentment, 
and  made  up  his  mind  to  make  the  most  of  the  world  as  he 
found  it,  and  not  make  himself  unhappy  because  it  was 
not  what  he  would  like  it  to  be.  His  anxiety  about  his 
wife  soon  expelled  all  other  thoughts.  While  she,  as  we 


Joy  at  Lastlands  189 

have  seen,  was  in  a  reasonable  state  of  equanimity,  he  was 
restless  in  the  extreme,  running  about  from  one  recognized 
authority  to  another,  and  getting  encouragement  from  them 
all.  To  Digby,  who  had  had  quite  a  large  experience  in 
this  field,  his  conduct  seemed  in  the  highest  degree  ridicu 
lous. 

One  night,  about  eleven  o'clock,  the  crisis  came  on. 
Thornton  was  roused  and  despatched  for  the  doctor.  He 
went  straight  to  the  theater,  where  nearly  all  the  physi 
cians  of  that  day  were  then  most  likely  to  be  found.  At 
the  door  he  inquires  of  Overstreet,  the  doorkeeper,  and 
learns  that  the  doctor  is  in  the  house,  and  he  hurries  in. 
As  he  enters,  the  after-piece  is  concluding,  and  a  roar  of 
laughter  from  pit  to  gallery,  in  response  to  some  sally  of 
Mr.  Alex.  Drake,  the  great  comedian,  salutes  him.  Pre 
occupied  as  he  is,  how  untimely  seems  this  burst  of  merri 
ment  !  He  finds  the  doctor,  and  takes  him  out,  still  shak 
ing  with  merriment,  and  they  hurry  away;  the  doctor,  as 
they  stride  along,  speaking  only  to  ask  a  few  leading  ques 
tions.  At  the  door  of  Digby's  house  they  meet  Madame 
Luba,  the  French  nurse,  who  had  been  summoned  by  an 
other  messenger.  The  doctor  and  she  are  old  friends.  They 
exchange  compliments  and  go  into  the  house  together,  and 
hasten  up  the  stairway.  Thornton  closes  the  door,  and  is 
about  to  follow  them,  when  he  is  arrested  by  old  Rose, 
who,  with  the  stiff  formality  of  a  drill  sergeant,  shows  him 
into  the  parlor  below,  and  invites  him  to  take  a  seat  there, 
and  then  hurries  away. 

There  was  something  in  the  manner  of  that  old  servant 
of  his  father  that  excited  a  feeling  of  surprise  and  appre 
hension.  He  sits  alone  in  the  great  parlor,  by  the  fire, 
a  single  sperm  candle  burning  on  the  table,  meditating, 
and  vainly  endeavoring  to  comprehend  the  situation.  Then 
he  takes  a  book  and  tries  to  read,  but  finds  himself  incap 
able  of  fixing  his  attention  upon  the  page.  Then  he  walks 
softly  up  and  down  the  room.  By  and  by  he  hears  a  door 
open  above,  and  somebody  descends  the  back  stairway.  He 
hastens  out,  and  a  moment  after  meets  the  old  servant 
Rose  hurrying  from  the  kitchen.  To  his  question  about 
matters  he  gets  no  answer;  the  old  woman  only  scowls  and 


190  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

hurries  up  the  stairway.  Afterward,  old  Mrs.  Haly,  who 
is  a  neighbor  of  Digby,  and  is  attending  as  a  volunteer  on 
this  occasion,  passes  through  the  hall  and  is  intercepted 
by  him.  She  answers  him  only  by  an  impatient  gesture  of 
the  elbow,  and  a  frown  like  that  on  the  face  of  old  Rose. 

"What  can  it  mean?"  he  soliloquizes.  "They  look  at 
me  as  if  I  had  committed  some  crime" ;  and  a  vague  sense 
of  guilt  creeps  over  him.  He  goes  back  to  the  parlor  and 
resumes  his  seat  by  the  table.  The  wick  of  the  candle  is 
now  clubbed,  and  sheds  but  a  dim  light.  The  fire  is  low, 
and  burns  with  a  flickering  blaze,  casting  long  shadows 
that  leap  and  dance  in  a  ghostly  way  upon  the  wall.  In 
the  polished  brass  globes  of  the  andirons  he  sees  his  own 
visage,  horribly  distorted.  He  is  much  depressed.  Now 
the  front  door  opens,  a  heavy  step  passes  the  parlor  door 
and  goes  to  the  rear  of  the  main  hall.  He  hears  the  voices 
of  two  persons  talking  there  in  subdued  tones.  Now  there 
are  footsteps  going  up  the  back  stairway,  and  afterward 
the  heavy  tread  heard  before  comes  slowly  along  the  hall 
and  stops  before  the  parlor  door.  Then  the  door  opens 
and  the  portly  form  of  Digby  enters. 

"Well,  Bob,"  he  says,  "have  you  been  all  alone  here  this 
long  while?  I  had  to  go  on  an  errand  that  could  not  be 
entrusted  to  an  ordinary  messenger,  or  I  should  have  been 
here  to  keep  you  company  and  to  comfort  you."  Then 
he  takes  the  snuffers  from  the  tray,  snuffs  the  candle,  and 
lights  another  standing  there. 

"John,  for  Heaven's  sake  tell  me  something  about  my 
dear  wife !" 

"Your  dear  wife  is  just  as  well  as  can  be  expected" — 
and  then  seeing  Thornton  get  up  from  his  chair  at  this 
hackneyed  answer,  and  observing  the  intense  expression  of 
his  face,  Digby  quickly  added,  "She  is  safe,  and  doing 
just  as  well  as  possible.  Sit  down  and  compose  yourself. 
There  is  no  ground  for  apprehension." 

"John,  you  don't  know  how  I  have  suffered  here,  alone, 
with  no  means  of  hearing  from  the  poor  darling !  I  saw 
old  Rose  on  her  way  from  the  kitchen,  and  asked  her  after 
my  wife,  and  do  you  know  she  scowled  at  me  as  if  I  were 


Joy  at  Lastlands  191 

some  guilty  wretch,  and  went  away  without  answering  me. 
So  did  old  Mrs.  Haly,  whom  I  intercepted  afterward/' 

"Why,  of  course;  that's  the  way  they  always  do,  espe 
cially  in  a  first  case  like  this.  You  might  as  well  go  on 
deck  at  night,  in  a  storm  at  sea,  and  expect  the  sailors  to 
talk  to  you  about  the  situation  there.  They  would  soon 
tell  you  to  go  below,  out  of  the  way  of  those  whose  business 
it  is  to  work  the  ship." 

"But  why  do  they  scowl  at  me  ?" 

"I  don't  know  exactly.  It  puzzled  me  a  good  deal  when 
I  was  served  in  the  same  way.  They  always  do  it." 

"You  say  they  served  you  that  way?" 

"Yes;  they  serve  any  man  so:  the  Tsar  of  Eussia,  the 
Khan  of  Tartary,  the  Imam  of  Muscat — the  Devil  himself, 
if  he  has  any  domestic  establishment!  They  make  a  man 
feel  at  a  fearful  discount,  to  speak  commercially." 

"Indeed,  I  feel  at  a  fearful  discount  morally — as  if  these 
people  had  found  out  something  wrong  about  me,  of  which 
I  am  wholly  ignorant." 

"Oh,  yes,  that's  the  way  they  do  it.  They  make  you  feel 
like  a  malefactor." 

"That's  just  it,  like  a  malefactor !" 

"But,"  said  Digby,  "they'll  make  ample  amends,  when 
the  trouble  is  all  over.  Old  Eose  will  come  down,  with 
smiles  and  curtseys,  and  congratulate  you  upon  a  fine  son 
or  daughter,  as  the  case  may  be,  and  show  you  upstairs, 
where  you  will  have  an  ovation,  and  feel  yourself  a  better 
man  than  you  ever  were  before." 

At  this  moment  there  came  from  above  a  strange  shrill 
wail,  which  brought  Thornton  to  his  feet. 

"My  gracious  !    What  is  that  ?" 

"It  sounds  like  a  clarionet,  doesn't  it?"  said  Digby, 
turning  his  ear  upward. 

"John!  Where  is  the  doctor?  For  heaven's  sake,  go 
and  see  what  that  means !" 

"It  means,"  answered  Digby,  "that  an  heir  is  born  to 
the  house  of  Thornton,  and  that  the  youngster  has  good 
lungs,  and  that  they  are  in  full  play.  The  doctor  will  be 
down  soon  and  will  tell  us  all  about  it.  Then  he  and  the 
nurses,  all  except  one,  will  be  functus  officio.  They  will 


192  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

go  away  bag  and  baggage,  and  you  will  reign  chief  man  in 
the  house  for  a  month  at  least." 

And  soon  the  doctor  comes  in  smiling.  He  gives  Thorn 
ton  a  cordial  grasp  of  the  hand,  and  congratulates  him  on 
the  safe  arrival  of  a  fine  boy.  Then  he  takes  a  glass  of 
wine,  and  partakes  of  a  luncheon  that  has  been  provided 
for  him.  And  then  he  talks  of  indifferent  matters,  and 
then,  after  another  glass  of  wine,  he  goes  away.  Thornton 
thinks  that,  somehow,  he  treats  a  great  event  in  a  very 
light  way ! 

Then  there  is  another  step  in  the  hall,  and  soon  after 
old  Rose  enters.  As  Digby  had  predicted,  she  is  all  smiles 
and  curtseys,  and  begs  that  "Mars  Robert"  will  please  go 
up  and  see  his  wife  and  his  SON  ! 

Thornton  hastens  to  the  chamber,  where  he  finds  every 
body  smiling  welcome,  and  offering  congratulations.  He 
goes  at  once  to  the  dear  wife,  who  has  had  her  eyes  turned 
toward  the  door  ever  since  old  Rose  went  away  on  her 
errand.  He  takes  her  slender  hand  in  his  strong  brown 
fist,  and  imprints  a  kiss  on  her  white  forehead.  A  tear 
falls  from  his  eye  upon  her  cheek,  when,  with  a  startled 
look,  she  rains  back  kisses  over  his  face. 

Then  he  is  invited  to  look  at  the  baby,  and  after  much 
pulling  away  of  covering  he  is  shown  a  little  red  being, 
nestling  in  a  profusion  of  soft  wraps,  like  a  young  bird. 

Then  the  old  French  nurse,  who  is  putting  on  her  shawl 
and  hood,  says :  "Now  you  feel  mity  proud,  I  s'pose,  be 
cause  you  have  one  fan  sonn !  Well,  Madame  is  all  well, 
an  ze  leetle  man  is  well,  and  now,  Messieu  Tornton,  you 
muz  bring  me  'ome.  I  muz  'ave  you  fau  ezcort."  Then 
turning  to  the  wife,  she  says:  "Good-night,  Mees  Torn- 
ton.  Everything  goes  right;  keep  quite.  An'  doan'  you 
be  jalluse  fau  let  yo  'usban'  go  'ome  wiz  me."  And  when 
a  little  laugh  went  round  at  this,  she  straightened  herself 
with  an  air,  and  added :  "Ah  !  but  dare  was  a  time — wen 
I  was  young — I  had  two  block  eye — ah !  dat  is  all  gone ! 
Allons,  Messieu,  bring  ze  old  woman  'ome;  good-night." 
And  Thornton  went  away  with  her  on  his  arm. 

For  some  days  Thornton's  mind  was  filled  with  a  medley 
of  new  ideas  and  emotions.  He  did  not  at  once  realize 


Joy  at  Lastlands  193 

the  parental  feeling.  But  a  few  days  after  it  came  upon 
him  in  full  force.  Going  into  his  wife's  chamber,  he  finds 
the  little  being  at  the  mother's  breast.  A  tiny  pink  hand 
with  nails  of  pearl,  rests  there,  and  a  dimple  on  its  cheek 
comes  and  goes,  with  the  regularity  of  a  pulse,  as  it  drinks 
at  the  "font  of  life."  The  mother's  brow  is  slightly  arched, 
and  her  eyes  are  turned  down  upon  the  little  face  with  a 
look  we  dare  not  venture  to  describe,  but  which  must  be 
common  to  young  mothers  and  newly  arrived  angels  in 
Paradise. 

During  the  stay  of  Thornton's  wife  in  town  Lastlands 
was  in  a  state  of  demoralization.  Everybody  there  was 
seized  by  a  desire  to  go  to  town.  Never  before  had  the 
intercourse  between  the  two  places  been  so  frequent.  Lit 
tle  Dick  or  old  Tom  was  ever  on  the  box  driving  Barbara 
or  Mrs.  Scudamore  or  both  over  the  road.  Meantime,  all 
Thornton's  bachelor  friends,  Russell,  Stackpole,  Mclntyre, 
Mr.  Jack  Taylor,  felt  impelled  to  go  out  and  offer  conso 
lation  to  him,  and  to  beguile  the  imagined  pressure  of  his 
new  responsibility.  Mr.  Ould  was  disposed  to  join  them, 
but  was  kept  in  town  by  the  impending  trial  of  a  case  of 
great  importance. 

The  average  reader  will  know  how  grossly  Thornton's 
case  was  misunderstood  by  his  well-meaning  bachelor 
friends,  and  that  while  he  entertained  them  in  the  country 
he  often  wished  them  in  Jericho  and  himself  on  the  road 
to  town,  which  he  found  strangely  shortened  now  that  a 
wife  and  child  lay  at  the  end  of  it. 


CHAPTEK  XIX  i 

AN  EXPERIMENT  IN  SLAVEHOLDING 

"But  far  beyond  my  depth:   my  high-blown  pride 
At  length  broke  under  me." 

AT  THE  FALLS,  McCrae  had  not  failed  to  attain  in  the 
circle  of  trade  that  influence  and  consideration  always  ac 
corded  there  to  a  man  possessed  of  money.  He  was  now 
anxious  to  extend  this  influence  and  consideration  beyond 
this  circle,  and  in  order  further  to  ingratiate  himself  had 
made,  on  easy  conditions,  loans  to  certain  traders  of  lim 
ited  capital  but  of  good  social  connections,  and  on  like 
conditions  had  obliged  young  men  of  good  expectations, 
as,  needing  ready  money,  would  consent  to  be  beholden  to 
him — by  these  and  other  like  means  purchasing  good  opin 
ions.  He  had  now  fallen  in  love  with  a  widow  without 
fortune,  but  of  high  character,  and  excellent  connections, 
and  of  breeding  far  above  his  own.  Before  this  he  had 
seemed  careless  and  even  defiant  of  the  opinions  of  such 
people  as  were  thought  to  constitute  the  aristocratic  ele 
ment  in  the  community,  relying  for  whatever  social  weight 
he  might  have  there  upon  the  invincible  avoirdupois  of 
his  balance  in  bank.  But  now,  softened  and  subjugated 
by  that  passion  which  elevates  and  refines  all  whom  it  pos 
sesses,  he  longed  for  a  higher  plane  in  social  life.  For 
this  he  had  tried  to  conciliate  Thornton,  and  would  have 
hesitated  at  hardly  any  sacrifice  necessary  to  attain  it.  But 
stung  by  Thornton's  reply  to  his  friend's  effort  on  his 
behalf,  to  which  much  publicity  had  been  given,  and  being 
naturally  vindictive  as  an  Indian,  he  had  brooded  over 
projects  of  revenge.  With  a  vague  purpose  of  annoyance, 
and  of  being  on  the  ground,  and  in  a  manner  within  easy 
reach  of  his  enemy,  he  had  bought  a  piece  of  land  in  the 

194 


An  Experiment  in  Slaveholding  195 

Lastlands  neighborhood,  adjoining  that  of  old  Hugh 
Vaughn,  where  he  had  built  a  substantial  weather-boarded 
log-house,  and  ample  negro  quarters,  and  had  put  in  charge 
there  a  nephew  brought  from  Missouri,  whom  he  had  pro 
cured  to  be  made  deputy  sheriff  and  assigned  to  that 
district.  Living  there  with  a  large  band  of  slaves,  this 
deputy,  Williams  by  name,  was  busily  engaged  supervising 
the  clearing  and  planting  of  the  land,  as  well  as  with  his 
official  duties.  McCrae  was  a  frequent  visitor  to  this  place, 
and  was  by  his  proximity  often  thrown  into  the  company 
of  Hugh  Vaughn.  Men  are  more  readily  drawn  together 
by  some  vicious  trait  than  by  any  virtue  they  may  have  in 
common,  and  these  men  were  now  attracted  and  drawn 
into  intimate  relation  by  the  ruling  passion  of  both,  ava 
rice.  McCrae  knew  that  Vaughn  had  a  considerable  bal 
ance  in  the  bank  where  his  own  account  was  kept,  and  this, 
with  the  thrifty  condition  of  his  farm,  made  Vaughn,  in 
his  eyes,  in  a  high  degree  respectable ;  while  McCrae's  well- 
known  wealth,  his  official  position,  and  his  notorious 
influence  with  the  magistracy,  made  him,  in  the  eyes  of 
Vaughn,  a  veritable  magnate.  Far  more  agreeable  and 
congenial  than  Thornton  was  this  new  intimate,  to  the  old 
farmer.  Together  they  enjoyed  a  delightful  communion 
of  spirit,  never  lacking  an  agreeable  subject  upon  which 
McCrae  could  talk  and  Vaughn  could  listen  forever — 
money. 

A  few  days  before  the  time  appointed  for  the  sale  of  Ster- 
rett's  slaves,  Thornton  was  surprised  by  a  visit  from  Hugh 
Vaughn.  Partly  from  association  with  McCrae,  and  partly 
on  Phoebe's  account,  he  too  was  now  inspired  by  social 
ambition,  and  had  thoughts  of  assuming  a  more  stylish 
manner  of  life.  He  had  at  one  time  dreamed  even  of  a 
mounted  servant  to  attend  him,  as  he  had  seen  Thornton's 
father  always,  and  now  Thornton  often  attended.  But  he 
dismissed  this  scheme,  conscious  of  his  unfitness  for  such 
an  aristocratic  role,  and  would  now  be  content  with  a  slave 
woman  for  a  cook,  and  a  man  to  work  on  the  farm,  and 
thus  relieve  his  wife  of  the  drudgery  of  the  kitchen  and 
himself  of  hard  work,  to  which  he  was  fast  becoming  un 
equal.  Possessed  of  this  idea,  he  had  come  to  advise  with 


196  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Thornton  about  the  purchase,  at  the  sale,  of  two  of  Ster- 
rett's  slaves,  a  man  and  a  woman.  Thornton  told  him  of 
his  own  design  to  buy  these  slaves,  explaining  that  his  only 
object  was  to  oblige  Sterrett  and  his  wife,  by  securing  a 
good  home  to  faithful  slaves  brought  to  the  auction  block, 
and  that  if  it  would  be  agreeable  to  Sterrett,  he  himself 
would  be  content  that  Vaughn  should  buy  them.  Then  at 
Vaughn's  request  he  gave  him  a  letter  to  Sterrett  stating 
Vaughn's  desire,  and  certifying  to  his  humane  character. 
With  this  Vaughn  visited  Sterrett,  who  agreed  that  as  to 
two  of  these  slaves,  a  man  and  his  wife  not  "born  in  his 
house,"  but  "purchased  with  his  money,"  it  would  be  agree 
able  to  him  that  Vaughn  should  buy  them.  After  the 
death  of  Captain  Shelby  it  was  thought  that  all  Sterrett's 
debts  would  be  paid  from  his  estate  and  the  execution 
against  his  slaves  satisfied.  Under  this  impression  the 
execution  against  Sterrett's  slaves  had  been  returned  by 
order  of  the  creditors  without  a  sale.  But  the  Captain 
made  by  will  a  strict  settlement  of  everything  in  trust  for 
his  daughter  and  her  children,  and  the  execution  was  re 
newed,  and  the  sale  was  now  soon  to  take  place.  On  the 
morning  appointed  for  this,  Vaughn  was  early  at  Lastlands, 
whence  he  and  Thornton,  attended  by  Tom  Strother,  rode 
away  toward  the  place  of  sale.  All  the  way,  old  Tom 
riding  behind  out  of  ear-shot,  Vaughn  said  nothing  about 
his  contemplated  purchase.  Only  the  evening  before  he 
had  notified  his  wife  of  his  design,  and  they  had  talked 
the  matter  over  until  late  in  the  night.  She  was  taken  by 
surprise,  but  opposed  the  scheme  with  great  earnestness, 
using  all  her  power  of  dissuasion  in  vain.  Yet,  though  he 
had  maintained  his  point  against  her,  and  thought  he  had 
settled  the  question  with  his  own  conscience,  citing  from 
Scripture  many  passages  justifying  slavery,  and  the  exam 
ple  of  Washington  and  other  great  and  good  men,  and 
under  his  eye  McCrae  and  others,  estimable  neighbors,  all 
this  had  failed  to  set  his  mind  at  ease,  and  now,  as  the 
hour  drew  nigh  for  the  consummation  of  his  design,  he 
found  his  desire  to  become  a  slaveholder,  somehow,  greatly 
abated.  That  long  talk  with  the  good  wife  recurred  to  him 
again  and  again,  and  she  proved  now,  behind  at  home,  more 


An  Experiment  in  Slaveholding  197 

potent  than  when  she  had  confronted  him  with  mild  but 
firm  dissuasion.  As  they  neared  the  place  of  sale  he  was 
undergoing  throes  of  conscience  that  woefully  distressed, 
him.  To  Thornton,  "to  the  manner  born,"  the  transaction 
was  a  matter  of  course.  He  was  in  high  spirits  over  the 
opportunity  to  oblige  Sterrett  and  to  succor  the  helpless 
slaves,  and  had  no  suspicion  of  Vaughn's  troubles. 

Soon  after  their  arrival  on  the  ground  the  slaves  were 
put  up.  First  the  two  men,  who  after  a  lively  contest, 
which  carried  them  up  to  the  full  price,  were  bought  by 
Thornton.  Then  the  man  and  wife  intended  for  Vaughn 
were  put  up.  Meantime,  the  old  Pennsylvanian  farmer  had 
been  growing  more  and  more  disturbed  as  this  moment 
approached,  industriously  mopping  with  a  red  silk  hand 
kerchief  his  sweating  face,  and  in  such  a  state  of  agitation 
that,  though  the  deputy  sheriff,  cognizant  of  Vaughn's  de 
sign,  again  and  again  invited  bids,  looking  at  him  with  a 
glance  of  intelligence,  he  made  no  response.  Then  Thorn 
ton,  seeing  his  bewildered  condition  and  correctly  inter 
preting  it,  bid  for  them,  and  became  the  owner  of  all  four 
of  Sterrett's  slaves.  When  the  official  sale  was  over,  Ould, 
who  was  present  and  had  quietly  looked  on  at  the  proceed 
ings,  paid  the  sheriff  and  took  his  receipt  and  then  went 
away. 

One  of  the  farmers  of  the  neighborhood,  many  of  whom 
were  present,  then  brought  out  a  lame  negro  boy  eleven 
years  old,  with  a  crutch,  and  explaining  that  he  was  about 
to  remove  to  Illinois,  and  had  sold  among  his  neighbors 
all  his  slaves  except  this  boy,  for  whom  he  desired  to  get 
a  good  home,  announced  that  he  would  sell  him  to  any 
gentleman  at  his  own  price;  adding  in  a  low  voice,  with 
a  laugh,  "provided  the  gentleman  suited  him,  and  should 
be  approved  by  the  boy."  "He  has  only  one  leg,"  he  said, 
"but  he  is  very  active,  and  I  will  match  him  to  go  over 
fences  against  any  boy  of  his  age  anywhere.  Get  up,  'Lijah, 
and  show  thfise  gentlemen  how  you  can  get  about  on  one 
leg."  Upon  this  the  lad  sprang  up,  and  exhibited  uncom 
mon  activity  and  dexterity,  lifting  himself  over  a  fence  and 
back  again,  and  capering  on  his  crutch  with  the  nimbleness 
of  a  monkey  on  his  pole.  Then  fixing  his  eyes  on  Thorn- 


198  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

ton  and  renewing  his  feats,  he  elicited  much  applause  from 
all,  but  kept  his  eyes  so  constantly  on  Thornton  that  he 
seemed  to  be  playing  exclusively  to  him.  Thornton  had 
mounted  his  horse,  and  was  about  to  ride  away  with  old 
Tom,  but  had  paused  to  witness  Elijah's  feats,  and  now 
called  to  his  owner,  "What  do  you  ask  for  him?" 

"Take  him  at  your  own  price,  Colonel  Thornton,"  was 
the  reply. 

"Is  he  a  good  boy?" 

"The  best  little  nigger  in  the  world" — seconded  by  many 
voices,  and  from  the  crowd  a  benevolent  cry,  "Take  him, 
Colonel ;  he  will  suit  you  to  a  T."  And  then  a  guilty,  half- 
subdued  voice  saying,  "He'll  match  old  Kirby,"  was  an 
swered,  "If  old  Kirby  hears  of  that  he'll  crack  your  head 
with  his  wooden  leg."  At  which  there  was  a  laugh.  Then 
Thornton,  who  had  been  attentively  regarding  the  boy,  said 
to  him,  "Do  you  want  to  belong  to  me?"  At  which  he 
sprang  up,  assenting  with  such  alacrity  as  caused  a  general 
laugh  and  a  repetition  of  the  benevolent  cry  to  Thornton 
to  "take  him."  Then  Thornton  said,  "Come  along,  'Lijah. 
Tom,  take  him  behind  you."  And  then  seeing  the  boy 
approach  Tom's  horse,  adjusting  his  crutch  for  a  leap,  he 
cried  out  to  him,  "Jump!"  and  Elijah,  carrying  in  his 
hand  a  bundle  containing  his  little  "possibles,"  dexterously 
lifted  himself  into  the  air  and  alighted  behind  old  Tom. 
There  was  almost  a  round  of  applause  at  this,  while  old 
Tom  wore  a  glum  face  at  the  undignified  companionship. 

Calling  up  his  newly  acquired  slaves,  Thornton  had  given 
to  each  of  them  a  gratuity  and  a  holiday  of  three  days, 
Sterrett  promising  at  the  end  of  that  time  to  send  them 
with  all  their  worldly  goods  to  Lastlands.  A  conference 
followed  with  Elijah's  owner,  when,  after  an  amiable  con 
test,  the  farmer  insisting  that  he  should  take  him  as  a  free 
gift,  Thornton  paid  him  fifty  dollars  for  Elijah. 

Very  noticeable  was  the  sympathy  of  the  assembled 
farmers  with  the  desire  of  the  owner  of  Elijah  that  he 
should  go  to  Thornton,  as  was  the  amiable  glee  with  which 
they  hailed  this  consummation.  As  for  Elijah,  he  attained, 
in  belonging  to  the  "big  Lastlands  plantation,"  something 
beyond  the  wildest  dream  of  his  ambition, 


An  Experiment  in  Slaveholding  199 

On  the  way  home,  Thornton  and  Vaughn  riding  to 
gether  and  old  Tom  and  Elijah  behind,  out  of  earshot,  the 
desire  of  the  old  farmer  to  possess  slave  property  was  in 
a  degree  revived.  He  had  left  home  with  a  fixed  resolution, 
as  he  had  announced  to  his  household,  to  buy  two  slaves, 
and  now  he  was  returning  with  none.  This  was  not  agree 
able  to  him,  and  he  proposed  that  Thornton  should  let  him 
have  Elijah,  but  Thornton  was  by  no  means  inclined  to 
do  this,  considering  himself  under  an  implied  obligation 
to  keep  him,  by  reason  of  the  circumstances  attending  his 
purchase.  Finding  his  old  friend  very  persistent,  and,  that 
he  might  make  an  experiment  in  slaveholding,  Thornton 
at  last  agreed  to  hire  the  boy  to  him,  with  this  proviso: 
that  if  at  the  expiration  of  three  months  all  parties,  Thorn 
ton,  Vaughn,  and  Elijah,  should  agree,  he  might  become 
the  owner  of  Elijah  for  fifty  dollars.  Thus  for  a  very 
small  consideration  the  old  farmer  became  the  conditional 
owner  of  a  slave,  and  felt  himself  already  a  party  to  the 
"institution";  identified  with  its  interests,  and  entitled 
to  discuss  it,  and  to  defend  or  denounce  it,  as  he  might 
choose,  on  all  proper  occasions.  Nay,  entitled,  if  he  should 
think  proper,  even  to  aspire  to  membership  of  the  "Yeo 
man's  Club!"  As  for  the  question  of  conscience,  he  si 
lenced  this  by  considering  the  uncertain  nature  of  his 
ownership,  with  its  contingencies,  and,  in  any  event,  how 
slightly  he  would  be  involved  in  slaveholding,  owning  only 
a  poor  crippled  boy,  whom  it  would  be  an  act  of  charity 
to  care  for;  and  considering  further,  that  he  was  said  to 
be  an  excellent  shoe-black,  and  would  relieve  him  of  an 
ugly  job,  and  could  go  to  the  spring  for  water,  and  that 
for  these  things  alone  he  was  "dirt  cheap  at  fifty  dollars." 

The  social  ambition  that  had  entered  the  breast  of  Hugh 
Vaughn  was  not  altogether  a  selfish  passion,  but  was.  due 
mainly  to  a  desire  to  open  a  fairer  career  to  Phcebe,  his 
only  daughter,  the  child  of  his  old  age,  the  very  apple  of 
his  eye.  He  had  not  failed  to  observe  her  improvement 
in  all  respects  since  she  had  been  associated  with  the  Last- 
lands  household,  and  he  was  now  full  of  fatherly  pride  in 
her  beauty  and  early  maturity.  He  hoped  before  he  should 
be  called  away  from  earth  to  see  her  well  married,  and 


200  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

he  would  look  high  for  a  mate  for  her.  Mean  as  he  was 
about  money,  he  denied  her  nothing.  Now  that  she  was 
fast  approaching  womanhood  he  astonished  everybody  by 
stimulating,  instead  of  repressing,  the  natural  love  of  the 
girl  for  finery.  He  never  came  now  from  one  of  his  peri 
odical  expeditions  to  the  town  without  bringing  for  her 
boxes  and  bundles  of  fine  things.  These  were  not  always 
in  the  best  taste,  as  Phoebe  herself  was  prompt  to  see,  and 
at  her  request  Mrs.  Thornton  had  undertaken  to  make 
her  purchases,  through  "Sister  Bigby,"  whose  taste  was 
infallible.  Thus  Miss  Phrcbe  Vaughn  had  in  a  short  time 
become  one  of  the  best  dressed,  as  she  had  already  been 
considered  one  of  the  prettiest,  of  the  budding  beauties 
of  the  Lastlands  neighborhood. 

Paul  Scudamore  beheld  this  change  with  a  sinking  heart. 
That  sensitive  organ  ached  after  having  seen  her  one  Sat 
urday,  neatly  and  beautifully  arrayed,  come  on  a  visit  to 
Lastlands.  That  day  Paul  went  away  from  the  house  and 
kept  away  out  of  sight  until  she  had  gone  home,  and  after 
ward  lay  awake  all  night  feeling  (as  he  said  long  after 
ward)  as  if  a  sharp  stake  lay  crosswise  in  his  left  breast, 
Poor  Paul !  He  now  thought  her  too  good  for  him,  or  for 
anybody.  She  seemed  to  have  soared  away  above  his  reach. 
Everybody  would  be  coming  to  court  her  now.  Some 
prince  would  come,  as  they  do  in  fairy  tales,  and  take  her 
away  to  be  his  bride. 

It  was  known  to  Paul  that  Williams,  the  new  deputy 
sheriff,  was  a  regular  visitor  of  Vaughn's  household,  and 
often  on  Sundays  passed  the  whole  day  there.  He  was 
what  old  Kirby  called  "a  paradeful  man."  Instead  of  the 
usual  fatigue  suit  of  plain  material  worn  by  other  depu 
ties,  he  was  arrayed  in  broadcloth,  and  rode  always  with 
a  beaver  hat,  and  buckskin  leggings,  with  saddle-bags  and 
a  portmanteau  capacious  enough  to  hold  not  only  his  offi 
cial  papers  but  an  ample  wardrobe  besides.  Such  a  shining, 
polished  and  varnished  deputy  had  never  before  been  seen 
ini  the  Lastlands  district.  Already  it  was  whispered  among 
the  knowing  gossips  that  though  some  twelve  years  or  more 
older  than  Phoebe,  a  disparity  then  considered  almost  in 
compatibility,  he  was  paying  his  addresses  to  her;  that  he 


An  Experiment  in  Slaveholding 

was  a  favorite  of  his  rich  uncle,  McCrae,  and  would  be  his 
heir;  and  a  match  between  them  was  confidently  expected. 

As  the  intimacy  between  McCrae  and  Vaughn's  house 
hold  increased  it  was  observable  that  the  cordiality  between 
that  of  Lastlands  and  Vaughn's  sensibly  diminished. 
Though  Phcebe  was  every  day  in  attendance  at  Mr.  Wall's 
school,  and  a  regular  visitor  to  Lastlands  on  Saturdays, 
Barbara  had  seldom  returned  these  visits,  and  for  some 
time,  as  by  a  tacit  understanding,  the  visits  had  all  been 
on  one  side.  Barbara's  nice  sense  had  detected  in  Vaughn's 
household  an  air  of  reserve  before  alien  to  them,  and  meet 
ing  there  more  than  once  the  deputy  sheriff,  and  repelled 
by  his  vulgar  air,  and  seeing  in  his  manner  to  Phoebe 
something  from  which  she  instinctively  revolted,  she  ceased 
to  go  there.  In  time  it  became  manifest  that  some  agency 
had  been  at  work  to  disturb  the  friendly  relations  of  the 
two  households.  This  was  manifested  by  slow  degrees, 
because  both  were  now  very  busy  with  their  various  indus 
tries,  and  the  intercourse  had  long  been  maintained  by 
Phcebe  alone.  As  for  old  Vaughn,  even  in  the  leisure  sea 
son,  he  had  not  been  inclined  to  visit  Lastlands,  finding 
himself,  from  a  lack  of  exchangeable  ideas,  unable  to  appear 
to  advantage  in  the  company  that  the  summer  season"  now 
brought  there.  Some  semblance  of  good  neighborhood  had 
subsisted  for  a  time  in  the  interchange  of  presents,  com 
mon  between  neighbors  in  the  country,  but  even  these  had 
now  ceased,  and  Phoebe  was  talking  of  being  withdrawn 
from  the  school. 

Thornton  had  been  so  absorbed  in  the  work  of  the  plan 
tation  that  he  did  not  observe  these  various  circumstances, 
and  was  unconscious  of  the  changed  relations  of  the  house 
holds.  At  last,  having  them  fully  explained,  he  at  once 
took  the  blame  to  himself,  attributing  it  to  his  neglect  of 
the  old  farmer,  by  not  going  as  often  as  he  should  have 
done  to  visit  him,  recalling,  with  a  sharp  touch  of  remorse, 
the  kind  reception  given  him  when  he  had  first  come  out 
to  inspect  Lastlands,  before  removing  from  the  town.  With 
this  feeling  he  went  at  once  to  visit  Vaughn,  resolved,  if 
practicable,  to  restore  the  old  friendly  relations  of  the 
households.  Having  apologized  for  his  own  neglect,  taking 


202  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

great  blame  to  himself,  and  having  gone  far  to  invite  some 
show  of  reconciliation  on  the  part  of  Vaughn,  and  this 
being  not  manifested,  but  his  advances  received  in  silence, 
and  with  a  look  of  sullen  reserve  on  the  part  of  the  old 
farmer,  Thornton  could  only  accept  the  situation  by  for 
mally  taking  his  leave.  For  only  a  moment,  as  he  went 
away,  he  saw  the  good  wife,  who  saluted  him  gravely,  but 
more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger. 

A  short  time  after  this  visit,  to  the  surprise  and  gratifi 
cation  of  all  Lastlands,  Elijah  was  sent  home.  He  had 
often  while  in  Vaughn's  service  visited  Lastlands,  and 
everybody  there  had  been  already  prepared  to  like  him,  by 
the  representations  of  Paul  and  Mrs.  Scudamore,  to  whom 
he  had  been  long  known,  and  by  the  doctor,  who  had  taken 
off  his  leg.  He  brought  no  explanation,  which  would  have 
been  proper,  seeing  that  the  period  of  probation  agreed 
upon  had  not  yet  quite  ended,  but  said  that  he  had  only 
been  told  by  Vaughn  to  "go  home  to  his  master/'  Thorn 
ton  had  long  determined,  when  the  time  should  expire,  to 
bring  him  home,  and  now  that  the  conduct  of  his  old  friend 
savored  of  resentment,  he  was  glad  to  have  this  anticipated. 
As  for  the  slaves  at  Lastlands,  they  were  jubilant.  All 
along,  the  public  opinion  of  "the  quarter"  had  been  against 
Elijah's  remaining  with  Vaughn.  Kentucky  slaves  were 
always  full  of  aristocratic  notions,  and  they  looked  upon 
the  aspiration  of  the  Pennsylvanian  farmer  to  "own  nig 
gers"  as  downright  presumption;  and  they  had  not  failed 
to  imbue  Elijah  Math  this  notion.  He  bore  witness  to  very 
kind  treatment  from  Vaughn's  household,  but  confiden 
tially  told  Charles  Fetter  of  some  very  ill  usage  he  had 
received  from  Williams,  who,  meeting  him  on  his  way  with 
a  letter  in  his  hand  from  Phcebe  to  Barbara,  had  demanded 
to  see  the  superscription,  and  on  a  slight  demur  by  Elijah 
had  kicked  away  has  crutch  and  slapped  him  to  the  ground. 
Charles  enjoined  him  to  say  nothing  of  this,  and  it  was 
not  known  to  Thornton  till  some  time  after.  Meantime, 
Phcebe  continued  to  come  to  Lastlands,  and  when  John 
D.  and  Buttons  came  out  on  Saturdays  the  young  people 
had  many  pleasant  hours,  loitering  together  in  the  delight 
ful  precincts. 


CHAPTER  XX 


"Colonels  without  regiments,  and  captains  without  companies." 

THAT  readers  unacquainted  with  Kentucky  manners  and 
customs  may  understand  how  Thornton,  whom  they  have 
known  at  The  Falls  as  plain  Robert  Thornton,  after  a 
short  residence  in  the  country,  in  a  time  of  profound  peace, 
came  to  have  a  military  title  and  to  be  on  all  hands  called 
Colonel  Thornton,  it  becomes  necessary  to  say,  parentheti 
cally,  something  of  the  sources  of  titles  of  honor  in  Ken 
tucky.  Their  chief  technical  source  is  the  prerogative  of 
the  governor,  who  may  appoint  an  indefinite  number  of 
gentlemen  to  be  commissioned  as  colonels,  and  to  constitute 
his  military  staff.  By  the  exercise  of  this  prerogative  every 
fourth  year  since  the  inauguration  of  Governor  Shelby  in 
1792,  a  very  considerable  addition  had  been  made,  and 
will  continue  to  be  made,  to  this  array  of  Kentucky  colo 
nels,  already  in  number  an  army  in  themselves.  For  a 
time  these  officers  were  accustomed  to  consider  their  corps 
as  only  the  skeleton  of  an  army,  of  which  the  muscles  and 
sinews  and  other  requisite  parts  were  to  be  supplied  when 
the  proper  occasion  should  occur.  It  has  now  attained 
gigantic  proportions,  for  which,  if  it  were  desired  to  hide 
it,  the  Mammoth  Cave  itself  would  not  afford  a  sufficient 
skeleton  closet;  and  there  is  some  talk  in  military  circles 
of  a  provision  for  subaltern  officers  and  a  few  privates. 

But  the  prerogative  of  the  governor  is  not  the  only  source 
of  these  titles.  A  more  prolific  source — the  very  "officina" 
of  titles  of  honor — lies  in  the  "unbought  grace"  and  the 
"omnipotent  fiat"  of  the  people.  They  delight  in  titles, 
and  bestow  them  with  a  liberal  hand ;  not  indiscriminately 
nor  capriciously,  but  with  well-defined  fitness  and  order. 

303 


204  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

The  necessary  qualifications  are  three  in  number:  popu 
larity,  aquiline  features,  and  a  martial  bearing.  Every 
popular  man,  willing  or  not,  is  liable  to  have  a  title  of 
honor  imposed  upon  him.  This  is  not  always  the  title  of 
colonel,  to  which  the  governor's  appointment  seems  to  be 
restricted,  but  is  graduated  according  to  the  measure  in 
which  the  requisite  qualifications  are  possessed  by  each 
individual,  reaching  as  high  as  general,  and  as  low  as 
major,  within  which  limits  lie  all  the  military  titles  thus 
conferred.  In  cases  where  all  the  required  qualifications 
are  possessed,  the  individual  is  sure  to  be  made  a  general, 
except  he  be  handicapped  by  some  unwarlike  feature,  as 
great  breadth  of  back  and  sesquipedality  of  belly,  suggest 
ive  of  the  commissariat,  when  he  is  remitted  to  that  de 
partment  with  the  title  of  "Major."  Where  the  individual 
is  only  popular,  possessing  neither  aquiline  features  nor  a 
martial  bearing,  and  is,  moreover,  handicapped  by  the  un 
warlike  features  indicated,  he  is  regarded  as  clean  out 
of  the  category  of  military  men,  and  is  relegated  to  civil 
life  with  the  title  of  "Judge."  Some  confusion  is  made  in 
two  of  these  titles,  that  of  judge  and  that  of  general,  by 
the  fact  that  a  judge  of  horses  often  has  this  first  title 
conferred  though  he  may  know  nothing  of  law,  and  every 
attorney-general  has  all  his  rank  merged  in  the  sonorous 
military  title,  and  is  called  general.  Sometimes  of  a  judge 
it  is  necessary  to  ask  whether  he  be  of  stock  or  of  the  law. 

The  army  of  officials  thus  created  by  the  governor's  pre 
rogative  and  the  fiat  of  the  people,  vast  as  it  is,  is  yet  by 
no  means  expensive.  ISTone  of  them  receives  any  pay,  and 
all  furnish  their  own  rations.  Moreover,  though  some 
zealous  members  of  the  governor's  staff  have  been  known, 
on  receipt  of  their  commissions,  to  buy  copies  of  Vauban 
and  Jomini,  with  a  view  to  important  active  service,  they 
are  not  required  to  possess  any  technical  knowledge,  nor  "to 
know  more  of  the  divisions  of  a  battle,  or  how  to  set  a 
squadron  in  the  field,  than  a  mere  spinster." 

Many  of  these  dignitaries  affect  to  think  lightly  of  their 
titles,  speaking  of  them  with  "a  mocking  lip  and  noble 
scorn,"  as  if  they  despised  greatness.  Yet  it  is  observed 
that  they  are  not  pleased  to  have  their  rank  ignored,  and 


Titles  of  Honor  in  Kentucky  205 

are  mortally  offended  on  being  called  by  an  inferior  title; 
as  when  a  general  is  saluted  as  colonel,  a  colonel  as  major, 
a  major  as  captain,  or  a  judge  as  squire. 
Thornton's  title  came  by  the  popular  fiat. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

LOITERING  AT   THE   RIDGE-LICK 

"What  knowest  thou  of  birds,  lark,  mavis  merle, 
Linnet?    What  dream  ye  when  they  utter  forth 
May  music,  growing  with  the  light, 
Their  sweet  sun  worship?  These  be  for  the  snare 
(So  runs  thy  fancy),  these  be  for  the  spit, 
Larding  and  basting." 

AT  LASTLANDS  were  many  pleasant  loitering  places  for 
the  young  people.  A  favorite  spot  was  on  the  banks  of  the 
Anser,  half  a  mile  above  the  house,  in  the  shade  of  spread 
ing  elms  and  beeches,  where  a  rustic  seat  was  placed  be 
neath  a  beech  that  had  grown  up  with  a  wild  grape-vine 
about  it,  and  now,  enfolded  in  the  thousand  arms  and 
tendrils  of  the  vine,  made  immaculate  shade.  Opposite,  on 
the  further  shore  of  the  stream,  was  the  beginning  of  the 
"Ridge,"  high  ground,  at  the  foot  of  which  burst  out  a 
spring,  filling  with  its  waters  a  natural  bowl  in  the  rock 
and  flowing  thence  with  a  sparkling  current  into  the 
Anser.  This  was  the  best  spring  within  the  Lastlands 
domain,  and  was  known  far  and  wide  as  the  "Ridge-lick," 
a  name  given  to  it  by  the  old  hunters,  who  had  often  lain 
in  ambush  there  for  deer  and  other  game  that  came  to 
slake  their  thirst.  It  was  confidently  said  that  Boone  had 
often  drunk  there.  The  Ridge,  beginning  here,  extended 
in  a  northeasterly  course,  expanding  gradually  into  a  high 
rolling  upland  containing  many  thousand  acres  of  primi 
tive  woods.  Beer  were  still  to  be  found  in  these  woods, 
and  sometimes  visited  this  spring.  One  morning,  a  typical 
spring  morning, — when  "all  the  world  was  May," — Bar 
bara  and  John  D.  had  sat  there,  his  rifle  on  the  seat  be 
tween  them,  when  a  doe  with  two  fawns  came  to  the  spring 
to  drink.  Instinctively  John  D.'s  hand  stole  to  his  rifle, 

206 


Loitering  at  the  Ridge-lick  207 

but  Barbara's  hand  was  quickly  laid  on  his,  and  she  whis 
pered,  "No,  John  D.,"  and  he  whispered  back,  "No,  Barb" ; 
and  the  doe  stood  with  her  wild  black  eyes  staring  toward 
them,  but  seeming  not  to  see  them,  her  ears  pricked  for 
ward,  and  after  a  moment,  as  at  a  signal,  the  fawns  bounded 
away,  their  white  tails  spread  abroad,  and  were  followed 
by  the  doe  into  the  shadows  of  the  wood. 

Later  in  the  season,  at  the  time  of  the  oat  harvest,  while 
John  D.  and  Buttons  were  at  Lastlands  for  the  summer, 
they  found  themselves,  with  Barbara,  and  Phcebe  Vaughn, 
and  Paul,  loitering  at  the  same  spot,  when  two  of  the  har 
vest  hands  came  by,  one  of  whom  showed  to  them,  lying 
en  his  "cradle,"  a  large  dead  rattlesnake.  While  the  young 
people  were  looking  at  this,  and  expressing  in  various  ways 
the  horror  which  that  reptile  always  inspires,  old  Kirby 
came  along  the  path  and  joined  the  group. 

"Where  did  you  kill  that  ?"  he  said  to  the  man. 

"Down  in  the  oatfield,"  he  replied.  "We  was  cuttin' 
some  lands  left  yistiddy,  and  we  found  him  in  thar." 

"He  tried  to  get  away  from  you,  didn't  he?" 

"Yes,  sir ;  he  kep'  hidin'  in  de  oats,  till  it  was  all  down, 
and  den  he  run." 

"And  you  followed  him  up  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  till  he  come  to  a  stump  and  quirled  his- 
self  up." 

"And  rattled,  didn't  he?" 

"Yes,  sir—" 

"And  then  you  killed  him  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"The  fairest  'enemy  in  the  world !  Nothing  sneaking  or 
mean  about  him.  He  always  tries  to  get  away,  if  he  sees 
you ;  and  if  he  only  hears  you,  he  coils  near  a  stump  or  a 
log,  or  the  root  of  a  tree,  and  gives  fair  warning.  I'd  rather 
kill  any  snake  than  a  rattler !  I  do  kill  'em,  but  I  always 
have  a  bad  feeling  over  it."  And  then,  looking  at  the  tail 
of  the  reptile,  .he  said,  "He's  ten  years  old — about — nine 
rattles  and  a  button."  Then,  holding  it  by  the  neck,  he 
put  into  its  mouth  a  stick  with  which  he  drew  into  light 
two  great  fangs,  crooked  and  thickened  at  the  base  like 
fishbones,  and  sharp  as  needles.  As  he  withdrew  the  stick 


208  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

they  were  quickly  drawn  within,  as  by  a  spring.  Then 
taking  up  the  body,  he  carried  it  to  a  large  flat  stone  that 
lay  near,  and  said,  "There's  a  settlement  of  ants  under  this 
stone.  I'll  lay  him  on  it,  and  by  to-morrow  or  next  day 
they'll  have  him  all  packed  away  for  provender — all  but 
the  bones — and  you  can  get  his  skeleton  and  keep  it  for  a 
curiosity.  We  had  skeletons  of  a'most  every  snake  in  the 
wilderness.  And  I've  got  a  big  eel's  skeleton,  the  biggest 
eel  I  ever  saw.  It  looks  like  a  row  of  pipe  stems.  I  was 
fishin'  one  day  along  the  Anser  and  saw  a  fish  hawk  catch 
it  on  the  ripple.  And  such  a  squirming  and  twisting  as 
that  eel  made  I  never  saw.  And  then  an  eagle  came  and 
made  the  hawk  drop  it,  and  caught  it  himself,  in  the  air, 
and  still  it  squirmed  and  twisted.  But  the  eagle  carried  it 
off,  and  lit  on  a  tree  and  ate  it.  It  took  him  about  an  hour 
or  more  to  get  done,  and  I  happened  to  be  looking  at  him 
when  he  finished  and  flew  away,  and  I  saw  something 
dropped  from  the  tree,  and  I  went  there  and  found  the 
skeleton  on  the  ground,  picked  as  clean  as  if  it  had  been 
scoured  and  sandpapered,  or  cleaned  by  ants.  Nothing 
can  beat  ants  cleanin'  bones." 

After  some  further  desultory  talk,  he  began  to  discourse 
of  the  birds.  "It  is  astonishin'  to  think  how  few  small 
birds  were  in  the  wilderness;  such  birds  as  are  all  around 
now  in  the  garden  and  the  bushes  and  along  the  fences.  As 
the  settlements  were  made,  they  came  around.  The  swal 
lows  quit  the  hollow  trees  and  took  to  the  chimneys;  and 
another  swallow  that  lives  in  the  cliffs,  took  to  the  eaves  of 
the  houses,  and  especially  to  the  barns  and  the  sheds.  It 
looks  as  if  they  were  intended  to  live  with  the  white  man, 
and  had  been  only  waiting  for  the  settlements,  to  take  up 
their  board  with  him.  But  there's  other  birds  that  leave 
the  country  as  the  clearings  are  made.  The  ivory-bill  wood 
peckers — you  seldom  see  them  now.  And  the  paroquet,  he's 
off  and  gone,  thank  goodness  !  A  mischievous  fellow !  I've 
seen  a  flock  of  'em  light  on  an  apple  tree  and,  in  two  min 
utes,  throw  down  every  apple  to  the  ground.  And  they  eat 
nothing  but  the  seeds !  There  used  to  be  a  good  many  of 
'em  along  the  bottoms  where  they  fed  on  the  pecans.  But 
the  pecans  are  pretty  much  all  gone  now.  People  cut  down 


Loitering  at  the  Ridge-lick  209 

the  trees  to  get  the  nuts.  There's  thousands  of  paroquets 
still  along  the  bottoms  of  the  lower  Ohio,  but  the  people 
are  destroying  the  pecan  trees  in  the  same  way  there,  and 
the  paroquets  will  have  to  move  again.  It's  a  question  of 
grub.  There's  no  question  about  the  usefulness  of  the 
birds  that  take  up  with  the  settlements.  Look  at  the  swal 
lows  at  the  barn,  all  day  long  on  the  wing  catching  the 
weevil  and  the  flies  that  pester  the  grain.  Even  the  little 
wrens,  with  their  houses  full  of  young  ones,  are  busy  the 
whole  day  long  destroying  bugs.  And  the  pewees!  I've 
seen  'em  under  my  porch,  where  they  have  a  nest  of  young 
ones — five,  feeding  the  whole  day  long.  First  comes  the 
cock  bird  with  a  bug,  and  gives  it  to  the  first  young  one 
in  the  row.  They  all  stretch  up  their  necks,  and  open 
their  mouths  wide  enough  to  let  you  see  down  their  throats, 
but  he  drops  it  into  the  first  mouth,  and  then  flies  away. 
Then  comes  the  mother,  and  up  fly  all  the  necks  again, 
and  she  drops  a  worm  in  the  second  mouth,  and  then  comes 
the  cock  and  gives  his  to  the  third  mouth,  and  so  they 
go  on  all  day,  and,  I  believe,  never  make  a  mistake.  I've 
watched  'em  on  Sundays,  when  I've  been  lying  on  the 
bench  there,  for  hours,  and  they  always  keep  the  right 
count.  Take  all  the  birds  together,  there's  hardly  any 
calculatin'  how  many  mischievous  bugs  they  make  way 
with.  I  heard  an  old  man  that  studied  a  great  deal 
about  birds  and  about  bugs,  say  that  if  all  the  birds 
were  destroyed,  all  the  trees,  and  pretty  much  every 
thing  that  grows,  would  be  devoured  by  bugs.  And  I've 
noticed  in  the  neighborhood  of  town,  where  the  birds  are 
pretty  much  killed  off  by  the  boys,  that  the  rough-barked 
trees,  the  locusts  and  the  walnuts  and  the  hackberries,  don't 
flourish  like  they  used  to  do.  And  right  in  town  the  black 
locust  will  hardly  grow  at  all,  but  is  destroyed  by  the  borer 
before  it  gets  four  years  old.  When  there  were  plenty  of 
small  woodpeckers  around,  they  picked  out  the  borers,  and 
the  trees  flourished.  And  there's  great  destruction  of  birds 
goin'  on  all  around.  The  Colonel  takes  good  care  of  the 
woodpeckers,  and  in  fact  of  all  the  birds"  (here  he  gave 
a  little  chuckle),  "even  of  the  rascally,  thievin'  jays  and 
crows,  that  steal  my  eggs  right  under  my  nose.  He  says 


210  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

we  must  give  and  take  in  this  world  and  not  want  it  all. 
But  it's  astonishin'  to  see  how  keen  after  all  kinds  of  birds 
the  youngsters  are !  They  used  to  come  out  here  from  town, 
and  although  the  Colonel's  father  had  forbid  any  shooting 
about  the  great-house  and  the  grounds  there,  when  these 
young  strangers  were  here  he  didn't  like  to  forbid  them, 
and  sometimes  they  just  powdered  the  grass  with  feathers. 
But  now  Miss  Barbara  there  stops  'em" — here  he  gave  a 
chuckle  and  a  shake  of  his  head — "it's  just  no  use  to  talk, 
when  she  puts  in.  They  just  c-a-n'-t  kill  the  birds  when 
she's  about !  To  see  how  crazy  they  were  after  even  the 
poor  little  singing  birds !  It  was  kill,  kill,  kill,  from  morn 
ing  to  night.  There's  a  singer!"  he  whispered,  "a  little 
tiny  fellow,  but  the  finest  of  all — just  piping  up.  Listen" 
(making  a  gesture  to  impose  silence),  "it's  the  wood- 
thrush." 

Every  ear  was  now  set  to  hear  this  marvelous  song 
ster,  whose  prelude  had  just  been  sounded.  No  words  can 
give  even  an  adequate  notion  of  this  strange  wild  melody. 
The  negroes,  who  have  a  wonderful  faculty  of  imitation, 
and  can  "mawk"  almost  all  sounds  made  by  bird  or  beast, 
cannot  imitate  this.  Even  the  mocking-bird  fails  here. 
He  cannot  give  the  reed-like  tone;  and  though  he  may 
catch  one  or  more  of  the  parts,  he  cannot  connect  them,  and 
loses  the  pauses,  which  are  as  effective  as  the  rests  in  music. 
Naturalists  have  described  this  song  as  consisting  of  many 
parts;  some  of  them  of  as  many  as  seven.  But  this  chron 
icler  has  never  heard  but  three.  The  first,  Wilson  likens 
to  "double-tonguing"  on  a  flute,  or  the  rapid  tinkling  of  a 
bell,  which  gives  the  best  idea  of  its  character,  but  does  not 
express  the  spirit  that  is  in  it.  After  this  first  part  there 
is  a  pause;  then  comes  the  second  part,  with  no  trace  of 
double-tonguing,  but  far  sweeter  and  more  full;  then  an 
other  pause;  and  then  the  third  and  last,  "a  dying  fall," 
which  fills  the  ear  with  satisfaction  and  delight.  We  grow 
indifferent  to  the  songs  of  many  birds,  as  they  are  staled 
by  custom ;  but  who  was  ever  indifferent  to  the  song  of  this 
thrush  ?  The  ear  soon  hungering,  we  cry,  as  Jaques  to  the 
tuneful  Amiens,  "More,  I  prythee,  more — come,  warble, 
come !" 


Loitering  at  the  Ridge-lick  211 

And  then  he  is  so  shy  and  modest !  So  chary  of  his  lit 
tle  person,  that  few  people  have  ever  seen  him.  It  is  said 
by  Bartram,  an  eager  lover  of  birds,  that  though  living  for 
fifteen  years  where,  in  summer,  he  heard  them  every  day 
singing,  and  though  constantly  looking  for  them,  he  never 
got  sight  of  one !  Yet  they  seem  to  like  an  audience ;  for 
when  singing,  his  favorite  perch  is  upon  some  high  leafy 
branch  near  the  edge  of  the  settler's  clearing.  But  if  you 
go  about  to  spy  after  him,  he  stops  singing  at  once,  and 
hides.  After  the  primitive  woods  are  cut  down  they  all 
go  away.  They  give  up  to  the  tanagers,  and  catbirds,  and 
the  orioles,  and  other  familiars  of  the  landscape  gardener, 
the  shrubberies,  and  the  gardens,  and  the  orchards,  and 
go  away  into  the  primitive  woods.  No  artificial  wilderness 
will  then  entice  them  to  stay.  With  the  old  pioneers,  whose 
favorite  minstrels  they  were,  they  flee  before  the  axe  and 
the  advancing  light  of  civilization  into  the  twilight  of  the 
frontier;  as  those  sprites  the  poet  feigns  to  dwell  about 
the  shadow  of  the  earth  flee  before  the  advancing  sun,  "fol 
lowing  darkness  like  a  dream/' 

And  has  not  everything  that  was  most  beautiful  under 
its  glamour  vanished  with  the  changeful  solemn  twilight 
that  inspired  Gray — the  twilight  of  primitive  days — "the 
wizard  twilight  Coleridge  knew"?  The  fierce  light  that 
beats  upon  an  unshadowed  earth  has  wrought  a  sad  disen 
chantment,  disrobing  the  earth  of  its  brightest  vesture ! 
Well  might  the  young  poet,  with  the  warm  temper  of  boy 
hood,  complain : 

"Science!  true  daughter  of  old  Time  thou  art! 

Who  alterest  all  things  with  thy  peering  eyes, 
Why  preyest  thou  thus  upon  the  poet's  heart — 
Vulture,  whose  wings  are  dull  realities? 
******** 

"Hast  thou  not  dragged  Diane  from  her  car? 

And  driven  the  Hamadryad  from  the  wood, 
To  seek  a  shelter  in  some  happier  star? 

Hast  thou  not  torn  the  Naiad  from  the  flood, 
The  elfin  from  the  green  grass,  and  from  me 
The  summer  dream  beneath  the  tamarind  tree?" 

Many  birds  indigenous  to  the  locality  had  now  disap 
peared  from  Lastlands ;  first  the  eagles  and  then  the  paro- 


212  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

quets  and  the  great  woodpeckers,  notably  the  ivory-bill. 
These  and  others  seem  fitted  only  for  the  wilderness,  and 
as  the  land  is  redeemed,  fly  away  to  other  wilds.  But  as 
plants  unknown  before  soon  sprang  unbidden  about  the  set 
tler's  feet,  so  other  birds,  before  unobserved  or  rarely  seen, 
gathered  about  his  cabins ;  and  both  plants  and  birds  now 
accompany  him  everywhere.  The  two  classes  of  birds  ex 
hibit  marked  difference  in  form  and  coloring,  and  charac 
ter.  The  strength  and  the  formidable  beaks  and  talons  of 
eagles  and  other  great  birds  of  prey  plainly  indicate  their 
affinity  with  the  violence  and  ferocity  of  savage  life.  The 
great  woodpeckers,  though  they  prey  on  nothing  more  for 
midable  than  the  large  horned  beetles,  yet  bear  in  their 
coloring,  red  and  black,  the  favorite  coloring  of  the  Indians, 
and  in  their  crests,  like  scalp-locks,  emblems  of  their  affilia 
tion  with  these  savages;  and  the  gaudy  array  of  the  paro 
quet  bears  a  similar  indication.  All  birds  that  are  incapa 
ble  of  adapting  themselves  to  civilized  life  bear  somewhere, 
in  their  markings,  similar  stamps;  splashes  of  color  laid 
on  with  a  careless  barbaric  grace,  as  on  the  tails  of  the 
passenger  pigeons,  and  on  the  wings  of  others  indefinite 
tracery  suggesting  emblematic  designs.  And  these  refuse 
all  familiarity  with  man,  are  untamable,  fighting  to  the 
last  against  all  restraint,  and  for  absolute  freedom.  On 
the  other  hand,  such  birds  as  attach  themselves  to  civilized 
man  bear  in  their  markings  a  certain  definite  regularity  in 
harmony  with  his  designs,  and  a  domestic,  household  col 
oring  that  belongs  to  him:  the  bright  goldfinches  and 
tanagers  and  indigo-birds  presenting  his  favorite  colors  for 
ornamentation:  not  forgetting  the  dainty  waxwings,  and 
the  cardinals,  with  their  pretty  hats,  nor  the  swipe-swallow 
with  his  suit  of  coal-black  velvet,  so  completely  adjusted 
to  his  sooty  home  in  the  chimney.  And  all  these,  if  un 
harmed,  become  familiar  with  man,  and  nearly  all  may 
be  easily  tamed.  May  we  not  recognize  in  these  things  some 
of  the  infinite  subtle  harmonies  of  the  universe  ? 

At  Lastlands  the  rule  established  by  Thornton's  father, 
forbidding  the  pursuit  of  birds  or  any  game  within  the 
extensive  grounds  about  the  homestead,  and  now  enforced, 
was  followed  by  its  natural  effect.  These  creatures  are 


Loitering  at  the  Ridge-lick  213 

prompt  to  discover  any  place  where  they  are  safe  from 
their  enemies,  and  they  quickly  availed  themselves  of  this ; 
filling  the  large  area  of  wood  and  plain  and  valley  with  all 
the  many  varieties  of  birds.  The  singers  were  there  in 
force,  and  in  spring  and  summer  made  vocal  all  the  groves 
and  shrubberies;  the  mocking-birds,  even  in  the  night, 
while  the  moon  shone,  singing  continually.  In  the  early 
fall  these  and  the  jangling  jays,  and  the  various  shouting 
and  drumming  woodpeckers,  and  the  feathered  mob  at 
large,  made  a  bird  babel  in  the  wooded  preserves. 

In  a  high  broken  snag  near  the  house  a  colony  of  screech- 
owls  had  long  been  domiciled.  One  of  these  always  saluted 
the  setting  sun ;  sounding  from  his  high  campanile  an  even 
ing  bell ;  sending  forth  the  notes,  as  the  drumming  pheasant 
does,  in  such  a  wavering  fashion  as  perplexes  the  ear,  and 
long  baffled  all  efforts  to  locate  the  bellman. 

The  blackbirds,  in  time,  gave  up  their  roosting  place  in 
the  willows  below  the  town  for  a  wood  containing  a  small 
canebrake,  near  the  house  at  Lastlands,  and  thronged  there 
at  nightfall ;  their  coming  marked  by  unfailing  punctuality, 
announced  by  the  roar  of  their  thousand  wings  and  their 
cry,  "check — check,"  then  quickly  settling  into  silence  and 
sleep. 

Along  the  Anser  wildfowl  of  many  kinds  fed  and  dis 
ported  in  security.  By  the  shore,  moving  with  slow  and 
stealthy  tread,  or  in  the  shallows  standing  fixed  as  a  statue, 
the  great  blue  crane  watched  for  his  prey.  Wild  geese,  in 
the  season  of  their  migration,  often  alighted  and  passed 
the  night  with  a  large  band  of  their  brethren  long  domes 
ticated  there.  One  particular  flock  of  the  wild  geese  estab 
lished  such  an  intimacy,  that,  during  certain  seasons  of  the 
year,  they  made  the  Anser  their  roosting  place,  and  were 
known  and  recognized  throughout  the  neighborhood  as  the 
"Lastlands  geese,"  and  were  respected  accordingly.  One 
of  these,  a  male  bird,  captivated  by  a  siren  among  the  do 
mesticated  birds,  remained  behind,  one  spring,  after  his 
companions  had  gone  away,  and  continued  there  during  the 
nesting  season,  but  in  the  fall  went,  leaving  the  siren  and 
a  numerous  progeny  behind.  That  all  this  bird  life  gave 
interest  and  zest  to  the  beautiful  pleasure  grounds  at  Last- 


214  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

lands,  and  made  them  a  delightful  loitering  place  for  old 
and  young,  the  reader  needs  not  to  be  told. 

Curious  it  is,  and  pitiful,  to  see  with  what  persistency, 
and  against  what  hindrances,  certain  birds  cling  to  civilized 
man.  Nay,  against  what  destructive  hostility !  For  since, 
with  a  strange  indifference  to  such  a  barbarous  fashion, 
their  skins,  and  their  feathers,  and  even  their  dissevered 
limbs  have  become  modish  ornaments  for  women,  and  each 
bird,  according  to  its  beauty,  has  a  price  set  on  its  head, 
they  are  menaced  with  extermination.  Yet  still  they  cling 
to  iis;  none  more  persistently  than  the  little  humming 
birds,  seemingly  too  delicate  for  the  rough  warfare  of  life. 
Even  in  the  towns,  if  there  be  anywhere  a  bed  of  flowers, 
thither,  with  heavenly  hues,  as  from  the  skies,  come  these 
"jewels  of  ornithology/' 

"Least  winged  of  all  the  vagrants  of  the  sky," 

outshining  far  the  gaudy  array  of  bloom.  Poised  on  view 
less  wings,  they  drop  from  flower  to  flower,  briefly  display 
their  rainbow  hues,  then  shoot  like  golden  bolts  back  to 
the  skies. 

Nay,  even  in  the  heart  of  great  cities,  where  all  traces 
of  nature  have  been  effaced,  among  brick  walls  and  paved 
streets,  and  amidst  the  din  of  traffic,  is  now  found,  come 
from  afar  over  the  sea,  another  bird  to  bear  us  company 
even  there :  a  cosmopolite,  at  home  everywhere,  consorting 
with  the  humble  ragpicker  in  the  gutters,  or  nesting  in  the 
eaves  of  the  rich  man's  dwelling.  It  is  the  house-sparrow, 
the  bird  of  Holy-writ,  that  cried  out  from  the  housetops  in 
Judea ;  the  hardy  little  finch,  for  ages  the  companion  of  the 
tough  race  in  whose  annals  he  is  first  recorded,  come  to 
bear  them  company  here ;  bringing  the  ancient  virtues  com 
mon  to  both,  thrift  and  independence,  here  as  everywhere 
alive,  indomitable,  indestructible,  inexpugnable — "COME 
TO  STAY" — and  to  find,  let  us  hope,  in  fresh  America  in 
stead  of  effete  Asia,  their  new  Jerusalem. 

Shall  we  always  remain  insensible  to  the  value  of  these 
beautiful  creatures  ?  They  were  not  made  only  to  enliven 
and  embellish  our  homes.  They  are  also  useful — nay,  in 
dispensable — to  check  the  inordinate  growth  of  insects.  All 


Loitering  at  the  Ridge-lick  215 

birds  destroy  insects,  and  all  (except  pigeons  and  their 
congeners  and  birds  of  prey)  feed  their  young  exclusively 
on  insects.  This  is  one  of  the  many  complementary  designs 
of  Providence,  by  which,  through  antagonistic  forces,  all 
things  in  the  Universe  are  kept  in  just  proportion  and 
equilibrium.  As  the  forests  are  cleared  away  and  the 
ground  exposed  to  the  vivifying  rays  of  the  sun,  insects 
multiply  with  amazing  rapidity.  The  late  advent  in  force 
of  the  potato  beetle,  and  of  two  new  kinds  of  flies  whose 
larvae  are  destructive  to  the  cabbage  plant,  have  given  us 
a  foretaste  of  what  may  occur  in  the  future.  What  germs 
of  what  other  insects,  still  more  destructive,  may  lie  in 
the  ground,  awaiting  the  destruction  of  the  forests  and  of 
the  birds,  and  now  kept  in  abeyance  by  the  shadows  of 
the  one  and  the  unremitting  aggression  of  the  other,  we 
know  not.  When  they  shall  come  as  in  the  treeless  dis 
tricts  of  the  Old  World,  and  in  like  districts  of  our  own 
land,  the  locusts  come,  in  countless  number,  obscuring  the 
sun, — of  whom  Joel  says,  "Before  them  is  a  garden  of 
Eden,  and  behind  them  a  desolate  wilderness," — then  we 
shall  know,  but  only  too  late,  when  the  plague  is  upon  us. 

Spare  the  birds,  good  husbandmen !  Nay,  cherish  them  ! 
Provide  about  your  habitations  trees  and  shrubs  in  which 
they  may  disport  themselves.  Plant  hedges  of  thorn  in 
which  they  may  nest  in  security ;  and  grant,  not  grudging 
ly  but  freely,  their  right,  when, 

"Tamed  by  the  cruel  season,  they  crowd  around 
The  winnowing  store  and  claim  the  little  boon 
That  Providence  assigns  them." 


CHAPTEK  XXII 

THE  DUKE 

"And  in  his  nose,  like  Indian  king, 
He  wore  for  ornament  a  ring." 

THE  herdsman's  cottage  was  another  favorite  loitering 
place  for  the  young  people ;  and,  with  that  perversity  which 
belongs  to  humanity,  a  chief  attraction  there  was  at  the 
same  time  an  object  of  dread.  This  was  the  "Duke,"  a  bull 
sent  out  from  England  by  Dick  Thornton.  It  was  not 
known  of  what  breed  he  was,  but,  like  the  other  cattle  sent 
out  by  Thornton,  he  was  of  immense  size.  They  were  all 
called  by  the  general  name  of  English  cattle.  In  color  they 
were  for  the  most  part  dark  red,  but  all  had  some  white 
marks,  and  the  Duke  had  a  large  and  very  conspicuous  white 
disk  which  covered  the  greater  part  of  his  loin.  When  he 
came  to  Lastlands  a  metal  ring  was  in  his  nose,  forecasting 
the  ferocity  which  he  soon  showed,  becoming  so  fierce  and 
dangerous  that  it  was  necessary  to  keep  him  confined  in 
a  stall,  from  which  he  was  never  removed  except  with  a 
staff  fastened  to  this  ring. 

Kirby  had  at  first  a  great  prejudice  against  the  Duke, 
because  he  was  a  British  animal.  But  he  got  over  this, 
after  having  had  him  for  a  time  in  charge,  and  even  grew 
fond  of  him,  taking  pride  in  his  ferocity.  "He's  a  devil,'' 
he  would  say,  smiling  and  shaking  his  head,  when  exhibit 
ing  him  to  visitors,  "but  there  ain't  no  deceit  in  him.  He 
hates  strangers  like  pison,  and  he  lets  'em  know  it  on 
sight.  Keep  clear  of  him;  he  can't  do  anything  with  his 
head  while  I've  got  hold  of  this  staff,  but  he'll  twist  his 
heels  round  toward  you,  and  big  as  he  is,  and  clumsy  as 
he  looks,  he's  quick  as  a  fish." 

It  was  not  often  necessary  to  repeat  these  cautionary  re 
marks;  for  few  people  who  went  to.  see  the  Duke,  except 

216 


The  Duke  217 

professional  cattle-men,  cared  to  stand  long  in  his  presence, 
while  he  constantly  menaced  them,  rolling  his  great  fierce 
eyes,  and  lashing  his  tail,  and  restlessly  twisting  about  his 
body,  in  efforts  to  get  near  them.  They  were  glad  when 
he  was  led  away,  and  drew  an  easier  breath  when  the  door 
of  his  stall  was  closed  upon  him.  As  for  that  slender  iron 
ring,  it  seemed  but  a  hook  in  the  nose  of  Leviathan. 

The  lame  boy  'Lijah  had  a  great  admiration  for  the 
Duke.  At  his  earnest  solicitation  Thornton  had  placed  him 
with  Kirby,  "to  help  him  with  the  cattle."  When  not 
otherwise  employed,  he  was  pretty  sure  to  be  found  about 
the  stall  of  the  Duke,  sitting  in  the  loft  above,  where  he 
could  look  down  into  the  bull's  eyes,  and  yet  be  safe  from 
his  horns.  Finding  the  boy  so  often  in  close  proximity  to 
him,  the  bull  became  indifferent  to  his  presence,  and  ceased 
to  make  hostile  demonstration;  and,  afterward,  he  became 
restless  when  the  usual  visit  was  not  paid,  and  made  his 
uneasiness  known  by  a  peculiar  lowing.  By  and  by  'Lijah 
made  further  advances,  scratching  his  head  with  his  crutch, 
and  then  putting  down  his  hand,  which  was  rasped  by  the 
bull's  tongue.  Then  he  rubbed  the  base  of  his  horn ;  finally 
he  got  down  beside  him,  and  at  last  rubbed  and  handled 
him  at  pleasure.  Many  were  the  dainties  gathered  and 
saved  by  'Lijah  for  his  friend  the  Duke — beets  and  carrots, 
and  cabbage  leaves,  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  his  diet, 
and  now,  in  summer,  he  was  often  regaled  even  with  water 
melons;  and  thus  grew  up  a  strange  friendship  between 
the  lame  negro  boy  and  the  mighty  bull. 

The  young  people  were  never  permitted  to  see  the  Duke 
except  from  behind  the  heavy  stone  wall  of  Kirby's  garden, 
whence  they  looked  on  with  awe,  as  Kirby  led  him  about 
for  exercise.  On  their  way  to  the  cottage  they  were  careful 
to  go  around  the  cattle-yard,  keeping  its  stone  walls  and 
strong  battened  gates  between  them  and  the  Duke;  looking 
toward  the  window  of  his  stall,  and  whispering,  and  walk 
ing  lightly,  awed  by  the  proximity  of  the  dreadful  brute. 
And  they  took  to  flight  when  he  recognized  their  presence 
by  a  lowing  more  frightful  than  his  loudest  bellow,  a  moan 
as  of  fierce  anguish  at  hated  humanity  passing  so  near  and 
being  not  gored  and  tossed! 


218  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

At  the  cottage  they  delighted  to  inspect  the  curious 
things  that  Kirby  had  collected  there;  spoils  of  war  and 
of  the  chase — buffalo  robes,  the  skins  of  panthers  and 
wildcats,  and  the  sloughs  of  various  serpents;  and  Indian 
curiosities,  wampum,  medicine-bags,  pipes,  bows  and  ar 
rows,  tomahawks  and  scalping  knives,  some  of  these  last 
stained  and  rusted,  it  was  said,  with  human  blood.  Over 
the  chimney  in  his  sleeping-room  hung  the  long  rifle  with 
which  he  had  hunted  and  scouted  against  the  Indians,  and 
in  the  corner  stood  an  old  musket  which  he  was  supposed 
to  have  borne  in  the  war  against  the  British.  Upon  these 
the  lads  looked  with  reverence. 

When  sated  with  the  curiosities  of  Kirby's  museum,  the 
young  people  had  found  unfailing  delight  in  sitting  upon 
the  bridge  across  the  branch,  in  the  shade  of  the  great 
elm,  watching  the  minnows,  and  the  crawfish,  and  the 
merry-go-rounds,  and  the  water  spiders  skating  over  the 
iridescent  surface,  and  the  movements  of  the  countless 
tenants  of  the  stream. 

One  idle  Saturday  afternoon,  in  the  lazy  latter  days  of 
summer,  Barbara,  and  John  D.,  and  Paul,  and  Phoebe 
Vaughn,  and  Buttons  were  loitering  in  the  shade  there, 
when  old  Kirby  came  down  to  them,  bringing  for  their 
delectation  two  great  watermelons  fresh  from  his  cold 
spring.  The  old  man  loved  the  society  of  these  young  peo 
ple,  and  was  kept  in  continual  quiet  laughter  by  their  sim 
ple  prattle ;  and  on  their  part  he  was  considered  a  veritable 
hero.  They  would  gladly  have  known  the  story  of  his  life, 
"whereof  by  parcels  they  had  something  heard,"  but  had  too 
much  delicacy  to  ask  for  it.  But  John  D.  now  ventured 
some  questions  about  the  hunting  of  wild  beasts  in  the 
wilderness,  and  the  old  man  sat  down  and  began  to  dis 
course  of  these: 

"There  were  no  very  dangerous  beasts  in  the  wilderness. 
The  deer,  you  know,  are  innocent  and  helpless.  It  was  not 
counted  sport  to  hunt  them.  We  killed  them  pretty  much 
as  we  now  kill  sheep,  for  the  meat  and  the  skin.  But  a 
wounded  buck  is  a  mighty  dangerous  fellow,  and  when  his 
eyes  turn  green,  and  his  hair  is  turned  all  the  wrong  way, 
and  he  bristles  from  end  to  end,  look  out !  I  was  camped 


The  Duke  219 

one  fall  down  on  Briar  Creek,  and  one  morning  a  big  buck 
ran  up  within  twenty  steps  of  me,  and  stopped,  looking 
back  over  his  shoulder.  I  pulled  on  him,  thinking  to  break 
his  neck,  certain,  and  at  the  crack  of  the  gun  down  he 
went,  right  in  his  tracks.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life 
that  I  ever  did  the  like,  I  walked  up  to  that  buck  with  my 
gun  empty !  There  he  lay  dead  as  a  stone — I  thought :  a 
splendid  fellow,  with  eight  prongs,  and  a  neck  like  a  bull. 
I  was  just  making,  in  my  mind,  a  guess  at  his  weight, 
when  I  saw  his  eyes  begin  to  snap ;  and  I  had  just  time  to 
jump  behind  a  tree,  when  he  was  up  and  at  me  !  I  kept  the 
tree  between  us,  dodging  behind  it,  and  found  it  all  I  could 
do  to  keep  him  from  getting  a  lunge  at  me,  for  he  was 
as  nimble  as  a  cat.  We  kept  up  this  dodging  behind  the 
tree  until  I  began  to  tire.  I  had  been  sick  with  ague  in  the 
summer,  and  my  wind  was  not  as  good  as  common,  and  my 
legs  began  to  shake  under  me,  and  I  felt  that  I  must  give 
out  after  a  while,  and  thought  to  club  my  gun  and  aim  to 
hit  him  between  the  eyes  with  the  barrel.  But  I  knew 
that  if  I  missed,  he  would  be  likely  to  kill  me,  and  so  I 
concluded  to  keep  up  the  dance  with  him  a  little  longer. 
As  luck  would  have  it,  he  stopped  all  at  once,  and  I  kept 
out  of  his  sight  behind  the  tree,  and  he  seemed  to  forget 
me,  and  walked  away.  Then  I  loaded  my  gun  and  followed 
after  him,  and  saw  him  wading  across  a  wide  shallow  pond, 
and  took  a  long  shot  at  him,  but  I  was  so  shaky  that  I 
didn't  hit  him,  and  he  went  off. 

"The  panther  is  a  great  coward.  They  are  always  on 
the  run ;  and  even  when  wounded,  try  to  get  away  without 
a  fight ;  and  when  they  are  clinched  by  the  dogs  they  scratch 
and  claw  only  to  get  loose  and  run. 

"But  of  all  cowardly  beasts  the  wolf  takes  the  lead !  You 
may  even  take  the  whelps  from  an  old  she  without  a  fight. 
I  knew,  down  in  the  Briar  Creek  region,  not  many  years 
ago,  a  fellow  that  found  the  den  of  an  old  she,  and  he  and 
his  wife  went  there  one  night,  and  she  held  the  torch  while 
he  went  in  and  brought  out  the  whelps.  It  was  a  good  find 
for  them.  They  left  one  whelp  behind  to  keep  the  mother 
in  heart,  and  took  her  whelps  every  season  for  seven  or 
eight  years,  and  got  six  dollars  apiece  for  their  scalps  from 


220  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

the  State.  Everybody  down  there  respected  this  man's 
right  to  that  wolf.  One  fall  I  was  down  there  in  a  camp 
with  Captain  Shelby  and  some  other  gentlemen  from  The 
Falls  when  the  man  that  owned  the  wolf  came  with  another 
man  into  our  camp.  They  always  came  about  any  camp 
that  happened  to  be  in  the  neighborhood.  I  had  just  come 
in  with  a  buck,  and  had  hung  him  on  the  pole,  and  was 
sitting  down,  smoking  a  pipe.  I  asked  them  to  take  some 
whisky,  but  they  wouldn't  have  any.  This  astonished  me 
so  that  I  took  a  good  look  at  their  faces,  and  I  saw  that 
something  was  wrong.  Just  then  Captain  Shelby  came 
out  from  the  tent  where  he  had  been  lying  down,  and 
shook  hands  in  his  kind  way,  and  asked  them  to  take  some 
thing,  and  they  refused  him  in  such  a  surly  manner  that 
it  riled  me  a  little,  and  I  said,  'What  has  got  into  you  men  ? 
You  won't  drink,  and  you  look  like  you  had  something  on 
your  minds.  If  there's  anything  wrong,  talk  it  right  out, 
and  let  us  know  it!'  Then  the  man  that  owned  the  wolf 
said,  'Some  of  you  men  has  killed  my  wolf.'  Then  the 
Captain  asked  him  if  he  had  a  pet  wolf,  and  that  made  him 
look  madder  than  before.  But  I,  knowing  all  about  this 
wolf,  put  in,  and  explained  it  to  Captain  Shelby,  and  as 
sured  the  man  that  none  of  us  had  killed  his  wolf,  and  sat 
isfied  him ;  and  then  they  took  some  whisky  and  went  away 
good  friends  with  us. 

"Two  days  after  that  I  was  down  at  the  mouth  of  Salt 
River  at  a  store-boat  there,  and  met  old  man  Sawyer. 
You've  heard  of  him,  I  reckon.  He'd  been  in  the  woods 
nearly  all  his  life,  and  was  an  old  Indian  fighter,  and  was 
camped  with  another  party  near  there.  Well,  as  we  were 
swappin'  camp  stories,  he  told  me  that  a  few  days  before, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  had  been  made  to  climb  a 
tree.  'I  had  followed  a  doe,'  says  he,  'just  at  daybreak, 
down  into  a  little  bottom  under  a  cliff  on  Knob  Creek, 
where  I  lost  her;  and  while  I  was  standin'  there  studyin' 
about  the  doe,  I  saw  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  a'most  over 
my  head,  what  I  took  for  a  dog  snuffin'  the  air.  Pretty- 
soon  I  saw  it  was  a  wolf,  and  I  pulled  on  it,  and  it  jumped 
right  squar  out  from  the  cliff  and  fell  right  at  my  feet. 
Aid  I  dropped  my  gun  and  went  up  a  tree !  Did,  for  a 


The  Duke  221 

fact!  Pretty  soon  I  saw  she  was  bleedin'  at  the  mouth, 
and  bitin'  the  wound  behind  the  shoulder,  and  I  lit  out 
of  the  tree  and  stood  by  her,  loadin'  my  gun  while  she 
died;  an  old  she  with  teeth  pretty  near  wore  out.  But 
she  treed  me!  I  think  I'll  hang  up  my  gun  and  go  into 
the  chimney  corner,  and  stay  thar.'  And  the  old  man 
looked  right  downhearted.  Of  course,  I  knew  then  what 
had  become  of  the  fellow's  wolf,  but  I  said  nothing  about 
it." 

"How  about  the  bears,  Mr.  Kirby?"  said  John  D. 
"Aren't  they  pretty  dangerous?" 

"Well,  they  are  powerful  beasts,  and  dangerous  at  close 
quarters,  but  they  will  never  attack  a  man  when  they  can 
get  away,  except  maybe  an  old  she  with  cubs." 

"Mr.  Kirby,"  said  Buttons,  "I  have  read  about  wolves 
following  travelers  in  sleighs  and  devouring  them  and  their 
horses." 

"I've  heard  of  that,  too,"  said  Kirby,  "but  it  must  have 
been  in  some  other  country,  where  they  get  starved  out  and 
gather  in  packs.  There's  no  telling  what  hunger  will  make 
a  beast  do,  nor  a  man,  either.  They  used  to  say  that  Daniel 
Boone's  brother  was  killed  by  wolves,  but  I  never  knew  any 
hunter  that  believed  it.  I  never  saw  'em  in  a  pack  but 
once.  I  went  one  year — it  was  the  year  of  the  cold  winter 
— to  hunt  over  on  Blue  River,  in  Indiana  territory.  It 
hadn't  been  very  cold  up  to  that  time,  but  it  turned,  all 
at  once,  bitter  cold,  and  I  found  that  the  mast  had  all  been 
blighted  over  there,  and  there  wasn't  an  acorn  or  nut  of 
any  kind  in  the  woods,  and  the  game  had  all  left  the  coun 
try,  and  so  I  packed  up  and  started  back  home.  Meat  was 
mighty  scarce  that  winter.  On  my  way  back  I  stopped 
with  old  Daddy  Claghorn,  and  stayed  all  night.  The  old 
man  had  just  killed  a  beef,  and  I  helped  him  to  dress  it, 
and  nothing  would  do  him  when  I  started  home  but  I 
must  take  a  piece  along  on  my  horse.  I  set  out  late,  with 
a  big  piece  of  the  beef  behind  my  saddle.  It  had  turned 
fearfully  cold.  The  sun  came  out,  but  it  looked  sick  and 
pale,  and  had  no  heat  in  it.  There  wasn't  a  breath  of  wind, 
but  the  air  stung  like  nettles,  and  the  trees  through  the 
woods  were  popping  like  rifles.  About  sundown,  when  I 


222  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

was  only  a  few  miles  from  the  river,  I  found  that  I  was 
followed  by  a  pack  of  wolves.  They  kept  pretty  far  away 
at  first,  but  as  the  dusk  came  on  they  pressed  up,  and  when 
it  got  dark  I  could  see  their  eyes  shining  close  behind  my 
horse's  heels,  and  hear  'em  rustling  through  the  dry  leaves. 
My  horse  was  an  old  campaigner,  and  -knew  what  a  wolf 
is,  but  I  think  he  was  a  little  dubious  at  seeing  so  many 
together.  Anyway,  he  didn't  show  much  sign  of  being 
afeared,  but  only  snorted  now  and  then,  and  took  a  some 
what  pearter  gait.  Once  or  twice  they  got  so  saucy  that  I 
thought  to  cut  the  meat  loose  and  let  'em  fight  over  it; 
but  I  couldn't  bear  the  idea  of  surrendering  to  wolves, 
so  I  held  on  and  brought  it  in.  They  followed  me  clean 
into  the  town  of  New  Albany,  far  enough  to  set  all  the 
dogs  in  the  little  settlement  to  yelping  and  barking,  and 
they  kept  it  up  all  night ;  and  next  morning  they  were  all 
out  snuffin'  around,  with  their  bristles  up,  on  the  trail." 

Here  Kirby  rose  and  seemed  about  to  go  away,  and  said, 
apparently  as  a  parting  speech:  "But  of  all  the  hunting 
in  the  world  there  is  nothing  like  hunting  men.  Go  on  a 
scout  after  a  war  party  of  Indians,  or  even  of  British,  and 
you  will  think  all  other  hunting  tame  after  that."  Here 
he  looked  toward  the  barn,  where  'Lijah  was  seen  separating 
the  milking  cows  for  the  cupping,  when  Buttons,  who  did 
not  stand  in  awe  of  heroes,  having  been  made  "blase"  by 
familiarity  with  them  in  the  green-roam,  eagerly  broke  in, 
saying : 

"Mr.  Kirby,  how  many  British  did  you  kill  in  the  war  ?" 

Kirby  began  to  laugh  in  his  low,  quiet  fashion,  and  to 
redden  and  to  shake  his  head  in  a  deprecating  way,  and 
after  a  while  said :  "Mr.  Buttons,  I  don't  like  to  say ;  a 
soldier  ought  to  be  modest  about  his  war  record." 

"That's  just  like  Uncle  Jeems,"  said  Buttons.  "He 
was  in  the  war,  and  when  I  asked  him  how  many  he  killed 
he  said  he  didn't  kill  any.  But  I  know  that  ain't  so;  for 
he  went  in  a  lef tenant,  and  they  made  him  a  captain,  and 
I  know  they  wouldn't  'a'  done  that  if  he  hadn't  killed  a 
good  many.  A  man  must  be  a  mighty  poor  fighter,  to  be  in 
a  war  three  years  and  not  kill  anybody." 

Barbara  had  been  making  ineffectual  signals  to  Buttons 


The  Duke  223 

to  quit  this  subject,  and  at  last  she  said :  "No  matter  how- 
many  of  the  British  Mr.  Kirby  may  have  killed,  he  was 
only  doing  his  duty  as  a  soldier,  and  now  may  not  like 
to  talk  about  it." 

The  old  fellow  reddened  again,  and  laughed,  and  made 
his  deprecatory  shake  of  the  head,  and  then,  suddenly 
straightening  and  looking  at  the  audience,  and  raising  his 
voice,  said:  "Would  you  like  to  hear  the  whole  truth 
about  my  record  in  the  war  ?" 

"Of  course  we  would  I"  said  all  the  boys  in  a  chorus. 

"Well,"  said  the  old  soldier,  speaking  slowly  and  em 
phatically,  while  the  eyes  of  his  hearers  were  riveted  on 
him,  "in  the  whole  war  I  never  killed  a  man ;  I  never  fired 
a  shot ;  I  NEVER  EVEN  COCKED  A  MUSKET  ON  THE  BRITISH  I" 

The  audience  made  a  visible  inhalation  and  exhalation, 
ejaculating,  "Oh — my !" 

"No,  I  never  even  cocked  a  musket  on  the  British !  It's 
awful,  ain't  it?" 

"Awful  I"  echoed  the  entire  audience. 

"I  enlisted  in  the  regular  army,  and  I  was  in  about  the 
first  line  of  battle  formed  after  Hull's  surrender.  There 
had  been  some  skirmishing  afar  off,  but  not  a  shot  had 
been  fired  on  our  line,  when  a  stray  bullet,  from  the  Lord 
knows  where,  struck  my  leg  and  broke  it;  and  they  took 
me  into  the  hospital  and  cut  it  off.  After  I  got  well,  with 
a  buckskin  pad  to  muffle  my  crutch,  I  served  in  the  hos 
pital,  and  afterward,  with  this  stump,  in  the  subsistence 
department,  sometimes  butchering  and  sometimes  herding 
cattle.  I  tried  to  get  into  the  cavalry,  but  couldn't.  I  did 
my  best  wherever  they  put  me,  until  peace  came.  My  con 
science  is  clear;  but  it  is  the  greatest  sorrow  of  my  life 
that  I  never  even  cocked  a  musket  on  the  British !  No,  no, 
Miss  Barbara,  I'd  felt  no  misgivings  about  killing  'em. 
If  I'd  killed  half  the  British-  army  I'd  wished  I'd  killed 
some  more." 

And  then  the  old  soldier  went  away,  leaving  his  young 
hearers  with  saddened  faces.  Buttons  immediately  gave 
voice  to  the  universal  sentiment,  saying :  "Poor  Mr.  Kirby ! 
I  bet  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  stray  bullet  he'd  'a'  killed 


224  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

many  a  British !"  And  Kirby  remained  still  a  hero  with 
the  young  people. 

Here  the  chronicler  cannot  forbear  to  observe  how  -un 
satisfactory  must  be  much  of  this  chronicle,  stopping  short, 
and  disappointing  the  reader  just  where  some  pleasing 
or  exciting  narrative  seems  to  be  promised.  Yet  such  is 
ever  the  story  of  real  life :  never  complete  and  rounded  off, 
as  are  the  tales  of  romance,  but  ever  fragmentary — ever 
a  story  of  "purposes  broken  off."  Perhaps  in  that  higher 
life, 

"That  one  far-off  divine  event 
To  which  the  whole  creation  moves," 

when  we  shall  have  put  off  this  "muddy  vesture  of  decay," 
and,  eye  to  eye,  shall  look  on  knowledge;  when  the  very 
primer  of  the  new  life  shall  unfold  to  us  the  mysteries  of 
cosmogony,  and  the  earth's  history  and  the  story  of  man's 
life  upon  it  shall  lie  open  to  us,  to  be  read  as  a  tale  that 
is  told,  all  its  riddles  shall  be  solved,  all  that  seems  now 
purposeless  or  the  work  of  chance  shall  be  found  combined 
in  a  complete  and  perfect  whole,  far  transcending  any 
conception  of  human  imagination.  Meantime,  let  us  curb 
our  mad  desire  to  penetrate  what  is  beyond  the  scope  of 
our  vision,  and  rest  content  in  implicit  trust  in  the  Divine 
power  that  created  and  sustains  the  universe. 

The  attention  of  these  young  students  of  natural  history 
had  now  been  for  some  time  turned  to  the  inhabitants  of 
the  Anser  and  the  branch,  and  the  bridge  had  become  a 
point  for  observation  and  study,  as  well  as  a  favorite  loiter 
ing  place.  In  a  deep,  clear  pool,  made  by  quarrying  out 
the  rock  below  the  bridge,  they  saw  the  minnows  disport 
ing,  or  gathered  in  a  dark  mass  at  the  bottom.  And  they 
saw  them,  when  a  fly  chanced  to  fall  on  the  surface,  all 
dart  at  once  to  seize  it.  At  intervals  a  bass  dashed  into 
the  pool,  sending  them  leaping  out  of  the  water  in  terror, 
or  a  water  snake  glided  among  them  like  a  lance,  bearing 
off  a  minnow  in  its  jaws.  When  Mr.  Kirby  had  gone  they 
resumed  their  observations,  and  were  watching  a  large 
crawfish  sitting  at  the  mouth  of  his  burrow  in  the  bank, 
near  the  bottom  of  the  stream,  his  great  claws  idly  folded 


The  Duke  225 

before  him,  when  a  big  bullfrog  was  seen  suddenly  to  leap, 
upon  him,  and  instantly  these  two  creatures  were  clinched 
in  deadly  conflict.  The  liveliest  interest  was  at  once  ex 
cited  in  this  battle  between  two  of  the  largest  tenants  of 
the  stream,  a  "reptilian"  and  a  "crustacean."  A  fight  in 
an  African  river,  between  a  shark  and  a  crocodile,  could 
hardly  excite  there  more  concern  than  was  now  felt  in  this 
struggle  in  the  branch.  Barbara  and  Phoebe  grew  pale, 
while  John  D.  and  Paul  and  Buttons,  fired  with  the 
"gaudium  certaminis"  enjoyed  vicariously  "the  rapture  of 
the  fight."  But  the  water  soon  became  so  discolored  by 
mud  stirred  up  by  the  combatants  below  that  they  could 
no  longer  be  seen,  and  continuing  in  this  state  until  twi 
light,  the  young  people  reluctantly  went  away  without 
knowing  the  issue  of  the  battle.  They  flew  at  once  to  Mr. 
Wall  to  announce  the  event.  Though  laughing  heartily  at 
their  animated  account,  he  was  much  interested,  and  prom 
ised  to  go  down  with  them  early  next  morning  and  find 
out  the  issue. 

Meantime,  Buttons  and  John  D.  and  Paul  eagerly  specu 
lated  upon  the  probable  result.  Buttons  thought  the  craw 
fish  in  the  right,  being  on  his  own  premises  when  attacked, 
and  announced  himself  decisively  on  the  crawfish,  and 
believed  that  he  would  win.  John  D.  having,  as  an  angler, 
had  some  experience  with  the  claws  of  crawfish,  was  of 
the  same  persuasion.  Mr.  Wall  and  Paul  took  the  same 
view,  Mr.  Wall  averring  that  the  frog  had  no  aggressive 
power  except  to  swallow  his  adversary,  and  that  a  big 
crawfish,  with  claws  like  a  tailor's  shears,  as  this  one  was 
said  to  have,  was  a  very  awkward  thing  to  swallow.  Mr. 
Kirby,  whom  they  met  on  the  way,  was  of  the  same  mind, 
and  said  that  the  frog  had  "bit  off  more'n  he  could  chaw." 
And  they  were  in  the  right;  for  next  morning  the  frog  was 
found  still  in  the  clutches  of  his  enemy,  and  partly  drawn 
into  the  burrow,  and  though  still  "alive  and  kicking,"  was 
manifestly  at  the  mercy  of  the  crawfish.  In  the  course  of 
the  day  he  was  wholly  drawn  within  the  burrow,  doubtless 
to  be  there  devoured  piecemeal  by  the  victor.  Had  the 
frog  been  victorious  the  craw  would  have  been  taken  into 
his  capacious  maw,  there  to  lie,  as  has  been  said  of  the 


226  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

•prey  of  the  anaconda,  "like  a  great  estate  in  chancery,  to 
be  slowly  consumed  in  the  interior/' 

Mr.  Wall  was  accustomed  to  discourse,  at  intervals,  of 
something  that  should  illustrate  the  observations  made  in 
these  outdoor  studies,  and  open  to  these  eager  young  minds 
a  wider  view  of  animal  life  upon  the  globe;  and  now,  as 
germane  to  their  late  experience,  he  gave  them  a  descrip 
tion  of  the  great  sharks  that  inhabit  the  sea,  and  of  their 
battles;  particularly  the  battles  of  the  swordfish  and  the 
thrasher-shark  combined,  as  they  often  are,  against  the 
whale;  the  swordfish  with  his  long,  sharp  horn,  stabbing 
the  whale  while  under  the  water,  while  the  thrasher,  when 
above  the  waves,  struck  him  with  his  great  tail  covered  with 
a  coating  of  enamel  as  hard  as  steel,  "knocking  off,"  as  a 
sailor  had  said,  "whole  slabs  of  blubber  at  a  blow" — "mak 
ing  the  deep  to  boil  as  a  pot." 

He  spoke  also  of  the  habit  of  some  of  these  great,  fierce 
fish  to  devour  man,  and  of  the  instinct  by  which  they  know 
localities  where  their  prey  may  be  found;  haunting  the 
treacherous  rocks,  lightly  submerged,  where  ships  are 
wrecked;  following  across  the  sea  slave  ships  from  Africa; 
learning  even  the  meaning  of  a  sea  fight  and  the  feast  it 
promised,  and  during  the  great  maritime  wars  of  England 
rallying  always  promptly  to  the  sound  of  guns. 

These  little  lectures  soon  came  to  be  attended  by  Mrs. 
Thornton  and  Mrs.  Scudamore,  and  friends  from  town, 
and  diffused  in  the  households  a  strong  interest  in  this 
subject,  and  led  to  that  fine  museum  of  natural  history 
which  afterward  became  such  an  interesting  feature  at 
Lastlands. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
PAUL'S  CONFESSION 

"It  were  all  one 

That  I  should  love  a  bright  particular  star 
And  think  to  wed  it." 

AT  LASTLANDS  occurred  in  rapid  succession  a  series  of 
incidents  which  brought  to  a  determinate  state  the  vague 
relation  in  which  the  houses  of  Vaughn  and  Thornton  had 
for  some  time  stood.  These  will  now  be  told  in  succession : 
Thornton,  while  riding  on  his  accustomed  tour  of  inspec 
tion  about  the  plantation,  was  surprised  to  hear,  in  the 
depths  of  the  great  wood,  the  voice  of  Paul  singing  a  verse 
of  a  ditty  then  popular  with  the  swains  about  Lastlands : 

"She  went  up  the  new-cut  road,  and  I  went  down  the  lane, 
And  that's  the  last  I  ever  saw  of  my  sweet  Nancy  Jane." 

Soon  he  saw  Paul  in  the  wagon  slowly  approaching,  sitting 
on  the  board  seat,  in  solemn  meditation.  Checking  his 
horse,  Thornton  awaited  his  approach.  Suddenly  Paul 
started  to  his  feet,  and  making  a  nourish  with  his  whip, 
causing  it  to  crackle  over  the  heads  of  the  horses,  and  end 
ing  with  a  loud  smack  like  the  crack  of  a  rifle,  cried  out — 
storming  at  the  horses — "Confound  your  lazy  pictures! 
You're  creeping  along  like  snails  when  I  feel  like  going 
fifty  miles  an  hour  or  flying  away  in  a  balloon — Oh,  Lord ! 
Lord!" — and  then  seeing  Thornton,  he  fell  silent. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter,"  Thornton  said,  "that  you 
feel  like  traveling  at  such  a  rate  or  flying  away  in  a  bal 
loon?" 

Paul  was  as  open  as  the  day,  never  inclined  to  conceal 
ment,  and  now  incapable  of  hiding  from  Thornton  his  dis 
turbed  mind.  Confession,  we  are  told,  is  good  for  the 

227 


228  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

soul.  There  are  even  times  when  the  overcharged  heart 
must  have  relief  or  break.  No  such  sad  alternative  con 
fronted  Paul,  but  his  case  was  serious.  He  must  talk  to 
somebody  about  it.  To  no  one  could  he  so  readily  talk 
as  to  Thornton,  whom  he  dearly  loved,  and  in  whom  his 
trust  was  implicit,  and  he  spoke  out  plainly : 

"Oh,  Colonel  Thornton,  I  am  a  miserable  fellow !  I 
didn't  know  till  lately  that  it  was  possible  to  be  so  miser 
able.  You  know  I  love  Phoebe — I  didn't  know  how  much 
I  loved  her  till  now.  I  hoped  that  she  liked  me,  but  now 
I  know  that  I  will  have  to  give  her  up;  and  I  can't  bear 
to  think  of  it.  I  have  thought  over  all  the  misfortunes 
that  might  have  come  to  me,  and  I  believe  that  I  could  have 
mustered  courage  for  anything  but  this." 

'^Why,  what  has  happened  that  makes  you  all  at  once 
so  desperate?  Have  you  been  saying  anything  particular 
to  Phoebe  that  she  has  answered  unfavorably?" 

"No,  no !  I  haven't  had  the  courage  to  go  near  her  lately. 
I  saw  her  this  morning  going  to  visit  at  Lastlands,  and 
she  looked  so  much  too  good  for  me  that  my  heart  sunk,  and 
I  have  given  up  all  hope." 

"Why,  Paul !  I  am  astonished  at  you !  I,  too,  saw  her, 
and  very  lovely  she  was  in  her  new  frock  and  bonnet.  But 
do  you  think  that  a  young  woman  gives  up  her  old  friends 
when  she  puts  on  fine  clothes?  She  is  the  same  Phoebe 
she  was  yesterday  and  all  this  long  time  that  she  and  you 
have  been  such  good  friends,  depend  upon  it." 

"But  that  is  not  all.  You  know  that  red-headed  deputy 
sheriff,  Williams?" 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  him.  He  is  a  nephew  of  McCrae. 
What  of  him?  Is  he  paying  attention  to  Phoebe?" 

"Why,  of  course  he  is!  He  has  bought  a  high-headed 
bay  horse  and  new  saddle  and  bridle  and  saddle-bags,  and 
a  portmanteau,  and  has  been  to  the  dentist  in  town  and  had 
his  teeth  fixed,  and  has  set  in  there  like  a  fall  rain.  I  think 
it  ought  to  be  against  the  law  for  a  man  to  ride  sheriff  as 
he  does,  in  broadcloth  clothes  and  a  beaver  hat — it's  out 
of  all  character!" 

"Ah,  Paul !"  Thornton  said,  smiling.  "I  am  afraid  you 
are  prejudiced  and  uncharitable.  I  will  lay  a  wager  now 


Paul's  Confession  229 

that,  little  as  you  know  of  the  deputy,  you  dislike  him — 
at  least  you  don't  love  him  as  we  are  told  we  should  love 
our  neighbor." 

"Love  him !  Jehosaphat !"  And  then  he  broke  out  in 
hysterical  laughter,  showing  rows  of  teeth  that  looked  as 
if  they  would  never  need  a  dentist,  and  then  subsided  into 
grim  silence. 

"But,"  said  Thornton,  "you  have  not  given  me  any  good 
reason  why  you  are  in  such  a  state  of  desperation.  Of 
course,  such  a  pretty  girl  as  Phoebe,  no\v  that  she  is  fast 
growing  up,  will  have  plenty  of  suitors.  You  must  make 
up  your  mind  to  that.  You  have  had  a  great  advantage 
in  having  her  so  long  to  yourself.  Did  you  ever  tell  her 
that  you  love  her?" 

"Oh  dear !    No ;  but  I  thought  that  she  knew  it." 

"You  have  just  been  going  along  without  anything  being 
said  on  either  side?" 

"Yes;  just  like  John  D.  and  Miss  Barbara." 

"John  D.  and  Barb  !  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  they  have 
a  love  affair  on  hand  ?" 

"Oh,  no — I  ought  not  to  have  said  that!  But  they 
always  fall  together  when  we  go  out  walking  or  getting 
nuts,  or  anything  like  that;  just  as  Phcebe  and  I  used 
to  do.  It  was  always  sort  of  understood  among  us,  without 
anything  being  said;  and  I  know  now  by  my  own  case 
that  John  D.  loves  her,  though  he  may  not  know  it  him 
self.  He  shows  her  that  he  loves  her  as  a  brother  shows 
his  sister  that,  and  they  both  think  that  they  are  like  brother 
and  sister ;  just  as  I  used  to  feel  once  by  Phoebe.  But  just 
let  some  other  fellow  come  along  and  set  in  there !" 

"A  red-headed  fellow  on  a  high-headed  horse,  with  broad 
cloth  clothes  and  a  beaver  Jiat — " 

"Oh,  Colonel!  Don't!  Yes,  any  kind  of  a  fellow— 
and  then  John  D.  will  find  that  he  has  been  mistaking  his 
complaint,  and  will  know  what  ails  him." 

"Well,  Paul,  you  and  Phcebe  are  older  than  Barbara 
and  John  D.  Their  case  will  keep,  while  yours  is  more 
pressing.  I  think  Phcebe  is  an  honest,  true-hearted  girl, 
and  not  one  of  those  ambitious  misses  that  have  a  preco 
cious  fancy  for  matured  beaux,  and  give  up  their  early 


230  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

lovers  with  their  dolls.  You  must  take  your  chances  with 
other  suitors.  Fair  play,  and  let  the  best  man  win." 

"But  let  me  tell  you:  there  has  been  a  great  change 
lately  in  Phoebe's  father  toward  me.  He  shows  plainly 
that  I  am  not  as  welcome  there  now  as  I  was  before.  He 
is  mightily  taken  with  this  deputy  sheriff,  and  would  like 
to  see  him  marry  Phoebe —  Oh!  how  in  the  world  did 
I  ever  get  that  out? — it's  frightful  to  think  of  such  a 
thing !"  Here  he  jerked  off  his  hat  and  tugged  at  his  hair 
like  a  wild  man. 

"What  has  her  father  said  or  done  that  makes  you  think 
you  are  not  as  welcome  as  before  ?" 

"Nothing  directly.  But  he  talks  around  and  over  and 
at  me,  and  is  always,  in  Phoabe's  presence,  talking  about 
'Sheriff  Williams,'  as  he  calls  him,  and  telling  us  that  he 
is  the  favorite  of  his  rich  uncle,  and  will  get  all  his  money. 
The  fact  is,  the  old  man  is  mightily  changed  since  he  be 
came  a  slaveholder."  Here  Paul  grinned,  and  Thornton 
could  not  forbear  a  smile.  "You  see  he  looked  upon  him 
self  as  quite  another  man  after  he  got  that  little  lame  boy, 
Elijah.  He  watched  him  like  an  only  child.  He  was 
almost  afraid  to  let  him  do  any  work,  and  fed  and  pam 
pered  him  like  a  fighting-cock.  They  say  that  when  he 
first  got  him  home  he  sat  up  nearly  all  night  watching  him 
while  he  slept.  You  see  he  never  owned  a  nigger  before. 
It  beats  all,  the  way  he  went  on  about  him !  The  Sunday 
after  he  got  him  home,  some  young  men  were  there  with 
the  Vaughn  boys,  and  they  got  to  sky-larking,  throwing 
walnuts  at  each  other.  Pretty  soon  the  walnuts  were  fly 
ing  thick  right  about  the  back  porch,  where  the  old  man 
was  sitting  in  the  sun  with  his  nigger.  Some  walnuts 
struck  the  porch,  and  he  sprang  to  his  feet;  and  then  a 
regular  hailstorm  of  them  fell  that  way,  and  he  rushed 
out  in  the  direction  the  walnuts  came  from,  and  saw  the 
boys,  and  broke  upon  them  in  a  high  rage,  cavorting  and 
going  through  a  regular  war-dance,  and  stormed  out :  'What 
are  you  doing,  you  blamed  infernal  fools,  throwing  your 
stones  and  things  about  here?  You  all-fired  jackanapes! 
Have  you  lost  your  senses  ?  Are  you  crazy  ?  You  might 
knock  a  nigger's  eye  out!" 


Paul's  Confession  231 

Thornton  laughed  at  the  absurd  conduct  of  his  old 
friend,  but  cautioned  Paul  against  repeating  this  story. 
Then  he  mused  seriously  for  some  moments,  and  said: 
"Paul,  are  you  in  earnest  about  wanting  to  go  away?" 

Paul  hesitated  a  moment,  and  replied  that  if  he  could 
get  employment  away  he  thought  this  would  be  best  for 
him.  He  wished  to  Heaven  the  British  would  make  another 
war !  He  would  like  to  be  a  soldier ! 

"Bah  !"  exclaimed  Thornton.  "That  is  nonsense.  There 
will  never  be  any  more  war  between  enlightened  nations. 
So  you  may  dismiss  your  military  aspirations.  What  you 
want  is  employment  in  civil  life.  This  country  life  is  too 
isolated  and  promises  no  future  for  you.  I  have  thought 
of  this,  and  have  written  to  Bliss,  who  is  making  some 
extensive  surveys  of  the  State  of  Tennessee,  along  the  line 
of  the  'Purchase,'  and  I  have  now  to  tell  you  that  he  will 
give  you  a  place  in  a  month  from  this  time.  You  will 
get  employment  for  many  months,  with  good  pay,  and  will 
have  an  opportunity  to  learn  something  practically  of  what 
Mr.  Wall  has  taught  you  theoretically.  Keep  this  in  mind ; 
think  it  over,  but  do  not  speak  of  it  to  anyone  except  per 
haps — Phoebe." 

"0  Lord!" 

"You  ought  to  seek  an  interview  with  her,  and  if  she 
does  not  already  know  it,  you  ought  to  tell  her  the  state 
of  your  mind,  and  without  asking  her  for  any  pledge,  tell 
her  that  you  are  going  away,  with  the  hope  of  getting  such 
a  position  as  will  justify  you  in  asking  for  her  love,  with 
the  approval  of  her  parents.  I  think  she  likes  you  at  least 
as  well,  if  not  better,  than  anyone  else.  I'm  in  earnest, 
and  if  I  do  not  state  the  case  more  strongly  for  you  it  is 
because  I  want  to  keep  on  the  safe  side.  I  don't  want  to 
interfere  in  so  delicate  a  matter,  but  if  you  are  the  young 
woman's  favorite,  you  shall  have  her !  Buckle  down  to 
your  mathematics,  review  your  surveying  with  Mr.  Wall, 
and  go  out  on  this  expedition.  Take  whatever  place  Bliss 
may  offer  you,  and  work  faithfully,  as  I  am  sure  you  will, 
and  you  will  be  certain  of  promotion.  I  spoke  modestly  to 
Bliss  of  your  attainments,  which  are  considerable.  It  will 
be  better  to  exceed  than  to  fall  short  of  his  expectations. 


232  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

In  this  good  sense  let  'lowliness  be  young  ambition's  lad 
der/  Aim  to  make  your  services  valuable  by  excelling  in 
your  calling,  and  escape  that  galling  thing,  a  sense  of  de 
pendence,  as  well  as  that  other  abhorred  thing — at  which 
the  gorge  arises — patronage !  Let  no  man  presume  to  pat 
ronize  you.  Be  prepared  to  give  a  quid-pro-quo  in  all  busi 
ness  transactions.  Then  you  may  reach  the  only  true  basis 
of  happiness — independence.  Then,  instead  of  receiving, 
you  will  be  able  to  bestow,  and  have  within  your  grasp  one 
of  the  few  unalloyed  pleasures  of  this  life.  Don't  make 
yourself  unhappy  about  Phoebe's  suitors.  If  she  prefers 
you  now,  she  will  not  change  because  you  are  away.  As 
for  the  deputy,  whatever  her  father  may  say,  she  will  not 
fancy  him.  Opposition  will  only  strengthen  Phoebe's  liking 
for  you,  while  by  pushing  his  claims  he  will  make  her  de 
test  him.  Does  the  mother  prefer  the  sheriff?" 

"No;  I  think  not.  She  was  always  fond  of  me;  just  as 
if  I  were  one  of  her  own  sons.  Now  she  looks  at  me  in  a 
kind  of  tender,  sorrowful  way,  as  much  as  to  say,  'Paul, 
I  love  you  as  I  always  did,  but  you  can't  have  Phcebe,  and 
I  am  sorry  for  you/  ': 

"I  understand: 

"  'Cassio,  I  love  thee, 
But  never  more  be  officer  of  mine.' 

She  knows  her  husband's  preference  for  "Williams,  and,  like 
a  good,  dutiful  wife,  foregoes  her  own  and  falls  in  with 
his  wishes.  Paul,  I  tell  you  if  the  girl  fancies  you,  you  shall 
have  her !  Get  ready  for  this  surveying  expedition.  Keep 
out  of  the  way  of  Williams ;  but  above  all  things,  avoid  a 
collision  with  him.  Human  resentments  are  bad  things 
to  indulge,  and  never  come  to  any  good.  Keep  a  cool  head 
and  a  good  heart,  and  you  will  be  sure  to  win.  What  are 
you  doing,  driving  the  wagon  ?  What  have  you  got  in  it  ?" 

"Some  laps  left  by  the  men  from  the  hickory  that  was 
struck  by  lightning.  I  wanted  something  to  do.  I  am 
taking  them  in  for  the  smokehouse/' 

"That  is  very  well ;  but,  Paul,  you  are  no  longer  a  wag 
oner.  Make  the  men  unload  the  wagon  and  put  away  the 
horses." 


Paul's  Confession  233 

Then  Paul  drove  away,  and  Thornton  continued  his  ride 
through  the  great  woods,  indulging  in  a  world  of  senti 
ment;  identifying  himself  with  the  young  lover,  and  vica 
riously  chewing  the  food  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy.  "It  is 
strange,"  he  said  aloud — "it  is  strange  that  I  feel  such 
interest  in  these  lovers !  Yet  I  do  feel  the  strongest  interest 
in  them.  0,  'Love's  young  dream !'  do  we  ever  forget  it  ? 
I  must  talk  further  with  Paul.  I  would  rather  talk  five 
minutes  with  him,  and  hear  him  pour  out  from  his  honest 
heart  his  young  love,  than  listen  an  hour  to  Ould  philoso 
phizing — yes,  rather  than  walk  with  Plato  in  his  garden." 
Then  he  rode  away  to  the  outer  boundary  of  Lastlands, 
reveling  in  the  glories  of  the  primitive  woods,  and  full  of 
that  vague  but  potent  feeling  inspired  in  the  Anglo-Saxon 
breast  by  the  possession  of  land,  the  pride  of  domain ! 

Returning  from  his  ride,  as  he  came  near  the  big  gate, 
he  saw,  riding  leisurely  along  the  road  from  the  house, 
a  horseman,  whom  at  a  second  glance  he  recognized  as 
Paul's  rival,  Deputy  Sheriff  Williams.  Thornton  was  sur 
prised  to  see  him  there,  because  only  visitors  to  the  house 
hold  at  Lastlands  were  accustomed  to  enter  by  this  road, 
it  being  well  understood  throughout  the  neighborhood  that 
all  business  was  transacted  by  Thornton  at  the  office,  which 
was  reached  through  an  avenue  that  led  to  the  public 
highway,  and  was  in  all  respects  more  convenient.  The 
acquaintance  of  Thornton  with  the  deputy  extended  no 
further  than  the  business  transacted  when  he  purchased 
Sterrett's  slaves,  and  a  feeling  of  irritation  now  rose  within 
him  at  seeing  him  intruding  upon  his  grounds.  As  fire 
to  the  burnt  child  would  have  been  the  appearance  there 
of  any  executive  officer  of  the  courts  of  law,  suggesting 
always  disaster;  and  now,  recalling  those  black  days  when 
his  heart-strings  had  been  torn,  and  his  pride  touched  to 
the  quick  by  the  seizure  and  imprisonment  of  his  faithful 
slaves,  who  might  now  be  distressed  by  apprehension  of 
some  new  disaster  to  him  and  to  themselves,  especially 
irritating  was  it  to  see  there  this  nephew  of  his  ignoble 
enemy,  McCrae. 

As  the  two  men  met  and  checked  their  horses,  and  for 
mally  bowed,  Thornton  wore  a  stern  face.  The  deputy, 


234  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

with  an  unceremonious  business  air,  began  at  once  to  un 
buckle  his  saddle-bags,  and  drew  out  a  bundle  of  papers. 
While  untying  a  tape  string  that  bound  them,  he  mumbled : 

"You  are  Mr.  Thornton — Kobert  Thornton,  I  believe." 

"Yes,  I  am  Eobert  Thornton." 

"You  are  the  owner  of  the  Lastlands  property,  are  you 
not?" 

"Well,  sir,  when  you  inform  me  why  you  have  any  inter 
est  in  ascertaining  the  ownership  of  Lastlands,  I  will 
answer  that  question.  Meantime,  I  beg  to  know  the  object 
of  your  visit." 

"I  have  a  tax  bill  against  this  property,  which  has  been 
listed  in  your  name,  and  I  came  to  collect  the  tax." 

"Very  well ;  let  me  see  it,"  extending  his  hand. 

While  Thornton's  hand  remained  extended,  unmindful 
of  this,  Williams  continued  to  scrutinize  the  bill,  turning 
it  over  and  back  many  times.  At  last  he  handed  the  paper 
to  Thornton,  who  found  it  only  an  ordinary  tax  bill,  such 
as  had  always  been  paid  by  Mclntyre  at  his  office,  with 
nothing  on  the  back  to  require  scrutiny ;  and  observing  the 
supercilious  expression  on  the  deputy's  face,  he  was  satis 
fied  that  his  long  scrutiny  of  the  paper  and  the  question 
about  the  ownership  of  Lastlands,  and  that  about  Thorn 
ton's  own  identity,  and  the  ignoring  of  his  military  title, 
were  all  alike  impertinences.  Looking  over  the  bill  a  sec 
ond  time,  and  discovering  that  a  tract  of  five  hundred 
acres,  the  "Ridge  tract,"  as  it  was  called,  was  set  down 
twice,  and  thus  the  tax  to  that  extent  doubled,  he  handed 
back  the  paper,  and  pointing  out  this  manifest  error,  told 
the  deputy  that  if  he  would  correct  that  he  would  at  once 
give  him  an  order  to  Mclntyre  for  its  payment. 

"I  have  no  authority  to  correct  a  tax  bill,"  the  deputy 
replied.  "It  is  like  an  execution  in  my  hands — I  am  bound 
to  collect  all  it  calls  for,  right  or  wrong.  You  will  have 
to  pay  it.  If  it  is  wrong,  you  ca*n  go  before  the  county 
court  and  they  may  order  it  to  be  paid  back." 

"I  think  you  must  be  mistaken,  but  I  will  take  advice. 
Meantime,  in  case  of  other  business,  I  beg  that  you  will  call 
at  the  office." 

The  deputy  was  now  busy  adjusting  his  papers,  his  bridle 


Paul's  Confession  235 

rein  lying  loose  on  his  horse's  neck.  He  made  no  reply, 
but  tying  up  his  bundle  and  replacing  it  in  his  saddle 
bags,  without  a  word  or  salutation  rode  away.  Thornton 
watched  him  until  the  big  gate  closed  behind  him  with  a 
loud  clack,  and  then  rode  homeward,  speculating  upon  his 
unseemly  manners.  His  natural  conclusion  was  that  he 
intended  to  resent  in  this  way  the  assault  made  by  Thorn 
ton  upon  his  uncle.  He  had  observed,  as  the  deputy  sat 
on  his  horse,  his  powerful  build,  and  thought  how  poor  a 
match,  in  case  they  came  together,  Paul  would  be  for  this 
burly  Orson. 

As  Thornton  rode  away  after  the  departure  of  the  sheriff, 
he  found  himself  possessed  by  an  annoying  train  of  reflec 
tion.  Was  he  the  owner  of  Lastlands  ?  This  question,  put 
by  the  deputy,  again  and  again  recurred  to  him.  He  had 
answered  the  deputy  by  treating  it  as  an  impertinence ;  but 
he  now  answered  it  to  himself:  "No;  Lastlands  belongs 
to  Dick.  It  was  bought  and  paid  for  with  Dick's  money, 
and  though  he  has  not  demanded  a  deed,  it  is  his." 

Dick  had  been  always  devoted  to  his  young  brother,  and 
proud  of  him :  proud  of  his  manly  beauty,  his  strength,  his 
activity,  his  dexterity — proud  even  of  his  indifference  to 
riches,  his  love  of  pleasure,  his  leadership  in  the  gay  life  in 
the  town,  and  the  very  qualities  that  had  led  to  financial 
disaster.  Dick  had  always  been  Bob's  banker.  In  boy 
hood,  when  the  father's  money  resources  were  drained  by 
expenditure  at  Lastlands,  Dick  kept  his  brother  amply 
supplied.  While  abroad  in  England  he  had  sent  a  regular 
quarterly  supply  to  eke  out  the  fund  provided  by  their 
uncle  at  Norfolk,  and  afford  him  some  superfluities.  Since 
he  had  been  at  Lastlands  many  fine  cattle  and  sheep  had 
been  sent  to  him  from  abroad,  and  many  beautiful  objects 
of  art  for  the  decoration  of  {he  house.  Now,  not  without  a 
sense  of  shame,  he  was  conscious  of  having  regarded  these 
and  Lastlands  as  his  own,  and  this  without  any  feeling 
of  dependence;  but,  inured  to  obligation  to  Dick,  looking 
upon  it  all  as  a  matter  of  course.  But  now  that  his  rela 
tion  to  Lastlands  was  made  a  question  by  outsiders,  and  he 
might  be  counted  in  the  list  of  men  that  had  made  pre 
tended  sales,  or  contrived  to  transfer  titles,  in  order  to 


236  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

delay  or  defeat  the  just  claims  of  creditors,  thus  impugning 
the  good  faith  of  both  himself  and  Dick,  he  was  sorely 
annoyed.  Venial  as  he  had  regarded  such  transactions  in 
others,  in  the  distressful  times  that  had  come  upon  the 
people  of  late,  it  was  not  for  him  to  become  a  party  to  such 
expedients.  He  had  left  all  his  property  open  to  the  de 
mands  of  his  creditors.  Wherefore  the  question  of  the 
deputy,  implying  some  covert  design  in  the  matter  of  the 
sale  of  his  interest  in  Lastlands  and  the  purchase  by  Dick, 
assumed  a  new  significance,  and  stung  him  with  the  venom 
of  an  insult.  But  a  little  cool  reflection  put  him  in  better 
temper.  He  owed  no  man.  His  slaves  had  been  bonded 
by  Mclntyre,  but  Dick  was  behind  him,  and  the  slaves 
behind  Dick.  "Dear  little  Dick !  Was  there  ever  a  better 
man  or  a  kinder  brother?"  But  he  must  have  deliverance 
from  his  dependent  position.  He  would  not  be  thus  de 
pendent  even  upon  Dick. 

Thornton's  suspicions  as  to  the  speculations  of  outsid 
ers,  and  the  concern  they  felt  about  his  private  affairs, 
were  not  unwarranted.  "The  world"  will  always  thus 
concern  itself,  as  it  did  now.  It  does  not  easily  forgive 
a  man  for  not  going  absolutely  to  the  dogs  when  its  voice 
has  consigned  him  to  that  fate.  Thornton's  life  on  a  fine 
place,  busy  with  work  suited  to  his  taste,  surrounded  by 
congenial  neighbors,  popular  and  contented — so  absolutely 
contented  that  until  the  lying-in  of  his  wife  he  had  not 
visited  the  town  since  his  removal  from  it — was  hotly  re 
sented  by  "the  world,"  and  its  ears  were  open  to  any 
revelation  to  his  disadvantage. 

McCrae  had  long  looked  forward  to  Thornton's  downfall, 
when  he  thought  the  full  measure  of  his  satisfaction  would 
be  attained  by  becoming  himself  the  purchaser  of  Last- 
lands.  Old  Vaughn  also  had  coveted  a  part  of  it,  desiring 
to  extend  his  line  far  enough  within  the  Lastlands  domain 
to  include  a  portion  of  the  branch,  and  afford  an  ample 
supply  to  a  part  of  his  land  destitute  of  water.  He  had 
the  same  view  of  Thornton's  future  as  McCrae,  and  though 
incapable  of  his  malevolence,  had  long  kept  intact  his  very- 
considerable  deposit  in  bank  that  he  might  have  ready 
money  when  the  opportunity  to  buy  should  occur.  In- 


Paul's  Confession  237 

formed  of  this  design,  McCrae  promised  not  to  stand  in 
his  way,  and  this  matter  now  became  the  constant  theme 
of  their  talk.  "Mclntyre,"  said  McCrae,  "will  own  every 
thing  these  Thorntons  have  got.  I  know  that  he  has  fur 
nished  all  the  money  that  has  been  spent  on  the  place  of 
late,  and  has  always  paid  the  taxes.  The  place  was  bought 
and  paid  for  by  Dick  Thornton,  but  he  has  never  applied 
for  the  sheriff's  deed,  and  it  is  still  listed  for  taxation  in 
Robert  Thornton's  name.  Dick  is  now  away  in  some 
foreign  land,  speculating  as  he  always  is.  It  stands  to 
reason  that  he  can't  hold  his  own  with  Europeans  on  their 
own  ground,  and  pretty  soon  you  will  see  him  come  home 
broke,  and  then  the  Irishman  will  sell  them  out  to  pay 
himself/' 

With  McCrae,  the  possession  of  Lastlands  became  soon 
a  fixed  idea.  His  plans,  when  he  should  come  to  it,  were 
a  constant  subject  of  meditation;  often  covertly  riding 
around  the  land  and  spying  it  out  from  the  borders.  All 
his  thoughts  were  now  centered  in  Thornton's  fortunes. 
He  knew  well  the  history  of  the  family.  They  were  of 
Scotch  descent,  as  he  himself  was,  and  with  a  Scotchman's 
fondness  for  genealogies,  he  was  well  informed  of  theirs. 
He  knew  well,  as  Ould  had  described  them,  the  ups  and 
downs  of  their  career ;  and  he  knew,  and  with  a  Highland 
er's  superstition,  believed — and  trembled  as  he  believed — 
an  ancient  rhyme  that  testified  to  their  honor,  and  fore 
boded  their  misfortunes,  but  foreboded  also  destruction  to 
them  that  should  do  them  wrong.  He  thought  them  now 
to  be  on  the  decline,  and  fated  to  downfall,  and  he  reveled 
in  dreams  of  disaster  to  them,  but  was  possessed  of  a  super 
stitious  dread  of  committing  against  them  any  overt  act. 
Yet,  full  of  malevolence,  and  inspired  by  the  fiend  that 
palters  with  us  in  a  double  sense  to  think  he  might  safely 
wound  Thornton  by  indirection,  he  had  set  about  investi 
gating  the  case  of  "Mrs.  Scudamore,  of  which  some  very 
material  facts  had  come  to  his  knowledge,  hoping  thus  to 
hold  a  point  of  vantage  over  a  part  of  the  Lastlands  house 
hold.  In  the  same  way  he  had  designed  to  prompt  a  negro 
trader  to  bid  for  Sterrett's  slaves,  but  had  abandoned  this 
on  finding  that  Vaughn  desired  to  buy  two  of  them. 


238  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Soon  after  the  interview  between  Thornton  and  the  dep 
uty,  during  a  vacation  in  Mr.  Wall's  school,  a  collision,  as 
apprehended  by  Thornton,  did  occur  between  Paul  and 
Williams.  It  was  on  the  way  home  after  a  barbecue  held 
in  a  settlement  some  distance  from  Lastlands,  where 
Vaughn's  eldest  son  was  accustomed  to  visit,  and  where 
it  was  said  he  had  found  a  sweetheart.  Desirous  of  show 
ing  to  his  friends  there  his  pretty  sister,  of  whom  he  was 
justly  proud,  he  had  got  her  consent  to  accompany  him 
thither,  and  having  been  always  very  fond  of  Paul,  had 
invited  him  to  join  them  at  a  point  on  the  road  and  go  with 
them  to  the  festival.  This  invitation  Paul  gladly,  but  not 
without  tremor,  accepted,  and  accompanied  them  thither. 

The  people  there  were  nearly  all  strangers  to  Phcebe, 
and  though  received  with  great  cordiality,  she  felt  a  sense 
of  isolation,  which  made  Paul  seem  nearer  to  her  than  ever 
before.  Both  had  of  late  been  shy  and  undemonstrative; 
for  both  were  now  conscious  that  they  sustained  a  relation 
to  each  other  which  before  they  had  only  vaguely  suspected, 
and  they  now  drew  together  in  mutual  confidence.  If 
Phcebe  had  not  before  manifested  for  him  a  preference,  she 
did  now  plainly  manifest  it,  by  a  gentle,  tender,  confiding 
manner  that  could  not  be  mistaken,  and  which  Paul  himself 
perceived.  Had  the  brother  designed  to  afford  him  this 
opportunity,  no  better  scheme  could  have  been  devised.  Yet 
Paul  did  not  speak  of  what  was  nearest  his  heart.  With 
intuitive  delicacy,  he  felt  that  to  avail  himself  of  such 
circumstances  would  be  to  wrong  her  parents — nay,  to 
wrong  Phcebe  herself.  But  her  sweet  behavior  filled  him 
with  inexpressible  joy  and  satisfaction — "Happy  season  of 
virtuous  youth,"  says  Teufelsdrockh,  "when  shame  is  still 
an  impassable  celestial  barrier !" 

To  Williams,  who  came  later  on  the  ground,  Phcebe 
showed  aversion  as  strongly  as  she  showed  liking  to  Paul, 
filling  Williams  with  jealous  rage.  All  day  he  sulked 
about  the  dancing-ground,  observing  with  scowling  face 
the  happiness  of  Paul  and  Phoebe;  and  when  they  rode 
away  homeward  he  followed  in  their  path. 

When  Paul  turned  away  on  the  road  to  Lastlands,  young 
Vaughn,  who  had  seen  Williams  following,  observing  that 


Paul's  Confession  239 

lie  now  followed  Paul,  hastily  put  Phoebe  within  their  own 
farm  gate  and  rode  rapidly  back  on  their  track.  Soon  he 
saw  at  a  distance  both  dismounted  in  the  road,  and  the  next 
moment  engaged  in  conflict.  Spite  of  the  great  disparity 
in  size  and  strength,  Paul  seemed,  at  first,  a  full  match 
for  Williams.  But  weight  soon  told,  and  closing  with  him 
and  seizing  Paul's  long,  curling  hair,  he  threw  him  to  the 
ground,  and  with  his  boots  kicked  and  stamped  upon  his 
head  until  he  was  insensible.  He  would,  in  all  likelihood, 
have  killed  him,  but  that  Vaughn,  dashing  forward  and 
jumping  from  his  horse,  and  seizing  him,  with  great 
strength  threw  him  away  from  Paul;  and  when  he  again 
advanced,  interposed  and  offered  himself  to  take  up  the 
quarrel,  denouncing  Wllliams's  conduct  as  unmanly  and 
cowardly.  This  sobered  him,  and  he  desisted  and  went 

away. 

*  *  * 

"Won't  you  bleed  him?"  asked  Thornton  of  the  doctor, 
as  Paul  lay  on  a  couch  at  Lastlands,  now  conscious,  but  in 
clined  to  lapse  into  sleep. 

"No;  he  needs  all  the  blood  he  has — he  has  lost  too 
much  already." 

Then  rousing  him,  and  talking  awhile  with  him,  he 
allowed  him  to  lapse  again  into  a  doze.  Then,  having  long 
and  attentively  watched  him,  with  a  hand  upon  his  pulse,  he 
said :  "Let  him  lie  quietly — he  will  soon  be  all  right  again. 
But  here  is  a  wound  that  must  be  looked  after  and  kept 
constantly  covered  with  a  rag  moistened  with  tepid  water." 
This  was  a  semi-circular  cut,  which  had  bled  profusely, 
on  the  cheek,  just  beneath  the  eye,  made  by  the  toe  of 
Williams's  boot.  Closing  the  gaping  edges  with  a  few 
strips  of  plaster,  and  repeating  the  injunction  to  keep  it 
moistened  until  he  should  return,  the  doctor  went  away. 

Thornton  was  filled  with  indignation  against  Williams — 
walking  the  floor  with  angry  face  and  meditating  some 
mode  of  avenging  this  unmanly  assault.  But  Paul  soon 
recovering,  and  going  away  to  Tennessee,  with  no  mark 
but  a  faint  red  semi-circle  on  his  cheek,  Thornton  "used 
philosophy,"  dismissing  the  matter  from  his  mind. 

This  affair  put  an  end  to  all  intercourse  between  Last- 


240  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

lands  and  Vaughn's  household.  Phoebe  paid  one  farewell 
visit  to  Barbara,  to  whom  she  confided  all  her  troubles: 
the  persistent  solicitation  of  Williams  and  her  father's 
obstinate  encouragement  of  his  suit;  avowing  insuperable 
aversion  to  Williams,  and  her  mortification  and  shame  at 
being  placed  in  such  a  predicament,  while  only  a  school 
girl,  and  too  young  to  think  of  marrying  anybody ;  bitterly 
crying,  and  enlisting  the  warmest  sympathy  of  Barbara. 
These  untoward  circumstances  had  prevented  the  contem 
plated  visit  of  Paul  to  Phrebe,  and  he  went  away  without 
a  word  to  any  of  Vaughn's  household. 


THORNTON"  AND  WILLIAMS 

"By  the  pricking  of  my  thumbs 
Something  wicked  this  way  comes." 

ONE  day,  on  the  way  back  from  his  accustomed  ride 
around  the  outer  fences  of  Lastlands,  Thornton  stopped, 
near  sunset,  in  the  middle  of  the  ford  opposite  to  the  big 
gate.  Slackening  the  rein  to  allow  his  horse  to  drink,  and 
turning  sidewise  in  the  saddle,  he  seemed  quietly  to  survey 
the  scene  before  him;  glancing  at  the  rude  stone  acorns 
on  the  gateposts,  now  covered  with  green  mould,  in 
harmony  with  the  leafy  entrance  to  the  plantation,  and 
thence  along  the  shining  course  of  the  stream.  It  was  a 
hot  day,  late  in  August.  Light  rains  had  fallen  in  the 
night  and  in  the  early  morning,  and  light  high  clouds  now 
covered  the  sky,  obscuring  the  hot  sun  but  not  abating  the 
heat,  which,  unrelieved  by  any  breath  of  air,  was  still  in 
tense.  The  ride  had  been  excessively  disagreeable.  All 
the  way  his  horse  had  been  tortured  by  flies — not  only  by 
gadflies,  but  the  various  biting  flies,  among  these  the  flies 
that  lie  in  wait  in  the  shade,  the  tawny  deer-flies,  which 
had  swarmed  out  of  the  paw-paw  bushes,  and  fastening 
themselves  upon  the  base  of  the  horse's  ears,  probed  the 
delicate  skin  there  with  ferocious  energy.  Against  these 
last  the  rider  had  industriously  defended  him,  reaching 
forward  and  crushing  them  with  the  handle  of  his  whip  or 
his  leather  glove.  But  against  the  other  flies  he  could  give 
little  help,  and  by  these  the  horse  had  been  driven  almost 
to  frenzy;  his  tail  ever  in  motion,  brushing  and  switching, 
sometimes  achieving  almost  a  complete  rotary  motion 
which,  supplemented  by  a  sudden  bounce  upon  his  hind 
quarters,  was  anything  but  agreeable  to  the  rider.  Often, 

241 


242  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

stopping  suddenly,  and  throwing  back  his  muzzle  to  dis 
lodge  some  persistent  bloodsucker  from  his  flank,  he  had 
endangered  the  rider's  seat,  sending  him  almost  over  the 
pommel. 

Standing  now  in  the  stream,  the  horse  continued  to 
switch  his  long  tail,  and  pawing  the  water,  sent  the  spray 
upon  his  irritated  flanks  and  belly.  Having  appeased  his 
thirst,  he  raised  his  head  and  fetched  a  heavy  sigh  of  relief, 
but,  upon  a  slight  motion  of  the  rider,  he  again  put  down 
his  muzzle  to  the  water,  not  to  drink,  but  only  by  a  swilling 
sound  to  "make  believe,"  and  thereby  prolong  his  stay  in 
the  cool  stream.  This  cheat  he  might  have  spared  his  con 
science,  for  Thornton  seemed  content  to  remain,  and  to  be 
absorbed  in  meditation.  Along  the  reach  of  the  Anser, 
above  the  ford,  innumerable  gnats  and  flies  were  hovering 
over  the  water,  the  small  fry  eagerly  feeding  upon  them, 
rising  to  the  surface,  wreathing  the  face  of  the  stream 
with  smiles  and  dimples.  Finding  no  signal  made  to 
advance,  the  horse  again  raised  his  head,  seeming  content 
to  join  his  master  in  contemplating  the  scene;  pleased, 
perchance,  at  seeing  execution  done  by  the  fishes  upon  the 
pestiferous  gnats  and  flies. 

But  Thornton  was  unconscious  of  this  scene,  and  wore 
a  grave  face.  Hardly  ever  now,  save  in  dreams,  did  the 
troubles  of  the  past  recur  to  his  mind.  Yet,  whether  by 
reason  of  the  depressing  atmosphere,  or  the  enforced  idle 
ness  of  the  season,  or  from  some  subtle  association  of  the 
annoyances  of  the  ride  with  these  troubles,  they  all  came 
vividly  back  to  him  now,  and  with  them  a  bodeful  appre 
hension  of  impending  evil.  Such  forebodings  of  good  or 
evil  are  common  enough,  in  the  shifting  moods  and  phases 
of  the  mind,  of  which  every  man's  memory  bears  some 
record.  The  great  poets  make  frequent  use  of  them,  and 
they  doubtless  belong  to  all  humanity.  Often  they  seem 
to  be  verified,  and  then,  according  to  individual  bias,  are 
set  down  as  prophetic  intimations — 

"Spiritual  presentiments 
And  such  refraction  of  events 
As  rises  ere  they  rise," 

or  mere  coincidences.  Thornton  was  free  from  superstition, 


Thornton  and  Williams  243 

and  not  given  to  abstract  speculation,  but  he  now  recalled 
some  talk  of  these  premonitions  by  Quid,  who  had  faith  in 
the  "prophetic  soul/'  and  had  cited  many  strange  instances 
in  which  they  had  been  verified.  He  thought  it  a  noble 
belief  to  hold,  as  Ould  did,  that  the  Creator,  in  making 
man  in  His  own  image,  had  done  this  not  by  giving  him,  as 
is  vulgarly  supposed,  the  fleshly  form  he  wears,  but  by 
endowing  him,  in  a  measure  infinitesimally  small,  with  a 
portion — a  spark — of  His  own  celestial  nature;  a  faculty 
potent  above  all  human  reason  for  the  perception  of  truth, 
common  in  various  degrees  to  all  men,  and  to  be  developed, 
as  other  faculties,  in  the  long  course  of  the  race  upon  earth : 
manifested  heretofore,  in  its  higher  phases,  only  at  long 
intervals,  by  poets — seers — prophets,  and  in  this  material 
age  notably  by  Kepler,  when  he  enunciated  the  laws  of  the 
universe,  which  the  power  of  mere  human  understanding 
enabled  Newton  to  demonstrate,  but  which  only  Kepler 
could  divine.  "May  it  not  be  this  faculty,  in  its  humble 
rudimentary  state,  that  gives  these  vague  premonitions  of 
good  or  evil?"  Canvassing  this  question  with  himself, 
Thornton's  meditation  was  suddenly  disturbed  by  the  loud 
neighing  of  his  horse,  followed  quickly  by  the  clack  of  the 
latch  of  the  big  gate,  and,  turning  in  his  saddle,  he  saw 
with  surprise,  and  not  without  indignation,  Deputy  Sheriff 
Williams  ride  out  from  Lastlands. 

Williams  had  not  appeared  there  since  the  interview  in 
which  the  tax  bill  had  been  presented,  and  Ould  having 
been  requested  to  have  the  proper  correction  made,  and 
Mclntyre  instructed  then  to  pay  it,  and  the  sheriff  in 
formed  of  all  this  by  letter,  and  Thornton  being  now  free 
from  debt,  he  could  think  of  nothing  that  could  properly 
bring  this  odious  personage  again  to  Lastlands.  At  times 
they  had  met  upon  the  road,  when  Thornton  had  observed 
on  the  deputy's  face  a  malignant  scowl,  as  they  passed 
without  recognition,  indicating  precisely  the  relation  he 
desired  should  subsist  between  them,  and  he  had  come  to 
regard  Williams  with  indifference.  But  now  all  his  offen 
sive  conduct  in  the  past,  his  unseemly  manners  in  the  in 
terview  about  the  tax  bill,  the  cruel  blow  he  had  given 
Elijah,  his  brutal  treatment  of  Paul,  passed  in  review, 


244  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

and,  with  this  intrusion  upon  his  place,  seemed  to  indicate 
a  settled  purpose  of  offense.  Thornton's  face,  which  never 
wore  a  mask,  was  full  of  resentment  when  Williams  rode 
down  into  the  stream,  and,  at  a  gesture  from  Thornton, 
pulled  up  his  horse  in  front  of  him.  Their  eyes  had  not 
met  till  then,  when  a  glance  from  Williams  into  Thornton's 
angry  eyes  instantly  kindled  a  malignant  flame  in  his  own, 
and  the  two  men  were  glaring  at  each  other  before  a  word 
had  been  exchanged.  Thornton  was  the  first  to  speak. 
"I  desire  to  know,"  he  said,  "the  purpose  of  your  visit  to 
my  place?" 

"I  am  a  public  officer,"  replied  Williams,  "collecting 
the  revenue  of  the  State,  and  I  hold  a  tax  bill  against  this 
Lastlands  property,  which  has  not  been  paid,  and  for  which 
I  have  distrained  by  levying  on  the  furniture  in  the  house." 

The  blood  mounted  to  Thornton's  brow.  All  the  humili 
ation  he  had  suffered  in  the  town  came  at  once  into  his 
mind  and  seemed  to  be  renewed  in  this.  He  answered  in 
three  words :  "You  damned  scoundrel !" 

Instead  of  the  anger  naturally  looked  for,  the  eyes  of 
Williams  now  gleamed  with  a  malicious  pleasure.  With 
rising  color,  and  straightening  himself  in  the  saddle  with 
an  air  of  exultation,  he  said :  "I  have  done  my  duty,  and 
if  you  think  I  have  gone  beyond  that  you.  have  your  remedy 
at  law,  or  you  can  have  any  other  satisfaction  you  want." 

"What  other  satisfaction  do  you  mean?  Do  you  mean 
such  satisfaction  as  is  accorded  by  gentlemen?" 

"No,  sir,  I  am  no  duelist!" 

"What  then?  Do  you  expect  me  to  engage  with  you  in 
fisticuffs?" 

"Well,  that  seemed  to  be  your  way  of  getting  satisfaction 
when  you  had  a  spite  against  an  old  man;  when  you  took 
advantage  of  my  uncle's  age,  and  struck  him  for  the  dis 
charge  of  his  duty." 

Thornton  paused  a  moment,  sobered  by  this  thrust,  which 
he  felt  keenly  because  he  had  not  always  been  sure  that  he 
was  free  from  blame  for  the  assault  on  McCrae,  justifiable 
as  it  had  seemed  at  the  time.  The  flush  passed  slowly  from 
his  face,  giving  place  to  a  look  of  grim  meditation.  Stead 
ily  scrutinizing  in  silence  the  face  of  Williams,  he  said, 


Thornton  and  Williams  245 

after  a  moment :  efl  believe  it  is  you  that  are  seeking  sat 
isfaction,  and  that  your  conduct  heretofore,  to  me  and  to 
those  connected  with  me,  has  been  prompted  by  a  desire 
to  make  an  opportunity  for  that.  Is  this  true?" 

Williams  answered  only  by  a  series  of  short  nods  which 
expressed  at  once  malevolence,  triumph,  and  eager  assent. 

"Dismount,  then,"  said  Thornton,  "and  you  shall  have 
it  right  now,  in  your  own  way." 

"Come  on,"  cried  Williams,  leading  the  way  out  of  the 
stream  and  along  its  margin  to  a  spot  thinly  veiled  from 
the  road  by  a  fringe  of  trees,  a  low,  level  spot  sometimes 
flooded  by  the  Anser,  but  now  dry,  and  covered  by  a  rich 
growth  of  short  grass.  There  he  quickly  dismounted  and 
fastened  his  horse,  Thornton  doing  the  same  thing.  Will 
iams  was  soon  stripped  to  the  waist,  awaiting  his  antago 
nist.  Thornton's  only  preparation  was  to  take  off  his  coat 
and  waistcoat,  and  his  hat  and  cravat,  and  to  loosen  the 
button  at  his  throat,  and  turn  up  the  cuffs  of  his  shirt. 
But  he  was  delayed  endeavoring  to  remove  a  seal  ring 
from  the  third  finger  of  his  left  hand;  and  finding  this 
impracticable,  he  walked  forward,  saying  to  Williams,  who 
had  stood  looking  at  him  with  a  contemptuous  smile : 

"I  cannot  get  off  this  ring.  It  may  give  me  an  advantage, 
for  it  will  cut  where  it  strikes." 

"Oh,  never  mind  the  ring,"  Williams  answered.  "I  will 
take  all  the  chances  against  that."  Then  Thornton 
promptly  confronted  him. 

As  the  two  men  stood  opposed,  though  of  equal  height, 
there  was  a  marked  contrast  in  their  figures.  Williams  was 
deep-chested  and  broad-hipped,  greatly  exceeding  his  an 
tagonist  in  weight  and  strength,  with  huge  muscles.  But 
his  arms  were  short,  and  his  shoulders  round,  and  he  had 
too  much  flesh  for  activity  or  for  long-continued  exertion. 
Thornton  had  broad,  square,  shapely  shoulders,  long  arms, 
an  ample  round  chest,  thin  flanks,  well  developed  muscles, 
and  a  light  elastic  movement  that  argued  activity  and 
quickness ;  and,  like  all  his  tribe,  he  was  uncommonly  well 
boned ;  yet  he  seemed  greatly  overmatched.  But  Thornton's 
English  schooling  had  taught  him  the  mysteries  of  the  art 
of  self-defense,  and  this,  with  a  disciplined  temper  ac- 


246  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

quired  in  more  than  one  stand-up  fight  in  the  English 
fashion,  might  go  far  to  make  up  for  the  inequality  in 
weight. 

Williams  stood  with  his  left  hand  stretched  far  forward, 
while  his  right  seemed  drawn  back  as  for  a  blow.  Thorn 
ton  stood  with  his  left  foot  advanced,  both  hands  held  well 
up  together,  his  body  easily  poised,  his  head  thrown  a  little 
back;  an  attitude  that  seemed  better  suited  for  defense 
than  attack.  There  was  a  look  of  anticipated  triumph  on 
the  face  of  Williams  as  he  maneuvered  with  his  left  hand, 
and  then  suddenly  advanced  and  struck  with  his  right  a 
blow  which  Thornton  avoided  by  lightly  swaying  his  body 
backward;  and,  as  his  adversary's  side  was  exposed,  deliv 
ered  with  his  left  hand  a  blow  on  the  body  of  Williams 
which  made  him  fetch  a  loud  grunt  (there  is  no  other  word 
for  the  sound  he  made),  and  quickly  after  followed  With 
another  upon  the  heck,  which  seemed  to  take  all  the  life 
out  of  him,  for  he  fell  like  a  log  to  the  ground. 

"Golly !" 

This  exclamation  was  heard  from  the  road,  and  then 
another  voice  called  out :  "Jump  into  him  with  your  boots, 
Colonel ;  that's  the  way  he  did  little  Paul !"  and,  looking 
up  the  acclivity  to  the  road,  Thornton  saw  there  Kirby  and 
Elijah,  both  mounted.  They  were  driving  home  from  a 
distant  pasture  some  cattle,  which  had  passed  by  and  were 
then  lazily  drinking  at  the  ford. 

"Stay  where  you  are,  Kirby!"  cried  Thornton,  imperi 
ously,  as  the  old  fellow  unbuckled  his  iron-shod  wooden 
leg  and  started  to  ride  down  to  him. 

Then  Williams,  who  had  lain  unconscious,  started  up 
like  a  man  awakened  from  a  dream.  For  a  moment  he 
stared  wildly  about,  and  then  rushed  at  Thornton,  endeav 
oring  to  close.  But,  moving  quickly  aside,  Thornton  gave 
him  another  sounding  blow  on  the  body,  and  as  he  renewed 
the  attempt  met  him  with  such  a  shower  of  blows  in  the 
face  as  left  him  bleeding,  half  blinded,  and  helpless.  This 
page  must  not  be  further  stained  with  what  savors  of  the 
brutality  of  a  prize  fight.  Let  it  suffice  that  the  bully  was 
beaten  at  his  own  game,  and  was  sent  home  with  a  broken 
jaw,  "a  direct  fracture  of  the  lower  maxillary,"  and  did 


Thornton  and  Williams  247 

not  ride  sheriff,  nor  go  a-wooing  of  poor  little  Phoebe,  for 
many  a  long  day. 

Thornton  received  no  hurt.  But  he  suffered  great  shame 
for  having  allowed  himself  to  be  drawn  into  such  an  un 
seemly,  rowdy  affair,  and  was  full  of  remorse  for  the  severe 
punishment  given  his  adversary.  Stopping  at  the  ford  to 
wash  the  blood  from  his  hands,  for  the  ring  had  cut  where 
it  struck,  he  there  enjoined  upon  Kirby  and  Elijah  strict 
silence  about  what  they  had  witnessed.  But  he  might  as 
well  have  enjoined  the  winds  not  to  blow.  They  would 
have  been  as  likely  to  obey  as  were  these  loyal  henchmen 
to  keep  secret  what  in  their  eyes  shed  so  much  glory  upon 
their  chief,  and,  reflectively,  upon  all  Lastlands.  In  the 
strictest  confidence  Kirby  described  the  fight  to  every  man 
he  met.  And  Elijah  had  for  some  time  nightly  rehearsals 
down  at  the  quarter,  where  the  whole  scene  was  enacted 
with  dramatic  effect.  Soon  the  affair,  with  all  the  particu 
lars,  was  known  throughout  the  neighborhood.  "He  did 
it  just  as  easy,"  said  Kirby,  "as  you  might  cuff  a  little 
nigger." — "He  dropped  like  a  beef  shot  in  the  curl." — "I 
tell  you  some  of  them  licks  would  'a'  made  the  Duke  blink." 
Thornton,  already  popular  among  the  men  in  the  hills,  who 
were  accustomed  to  settle  their  quarrels  in  the  same  way, 
now  came  to  be  in  their  eyes  a  veritable  hero. 

Various  were  the  comments  upon  this  affair  in  town 
and  country.  In  the  country  they  were  everywhere  favor 
able  to  Thornton.  The  deputy's  treatment  of  Paul  and  Eli 
jah  had  been  well  known  there,  and  had  excited  general 
indignation.  The  sturdy  farmers,  though  they  said  nothing 
of  the  fight,  smiled  significantly  as  they  gripped  Thornton's 
hand  when  they  met.  The  woodchoppers  engaged  in  clear 
ing  the  way  for  the  branch  toad,  stopped  work,  and  saluted 
him  with  unusual  emphasis,  and  looked  after  him  with 
admiring  eyes  as  he  rode  by.  Two  Irishmen,  busy  at  the 
stumps  with  pick  and  spade,  were  particularly  demonstra 
tive.  One  of  them  said :  "Be  dad,  but  he's  a  foin  mon ! 
And  he  bate  the  big  sheriff !  Long  life  to  him !  and  Oi 
hope  he'll  bate  more  of  'em."  To  which  his  companion, 
taking  from  his  mouth  a  short  pipe  and  waving  it,  replied : 
"Oi  go  bail  he  will !  More  power  to  his  airum !" 


248  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

At  The  Falls,  where  the  affair  was  bruited,  there  was 
not  the  same  unanimity;  the  provocation  Thornton  had 
received  not  being  there  so  well  known.  Besides,  McCrae's 
methods  had  secured  some  strong  adherents  there,  who  gave 
a  false  view  of  the  case,  representing  it  as  a  second  instance 
of  revolt  against  the  law  on  the  part  of  Thornton.  Still, 
the  better  opinion  was  there  also  on  his  side.  Some  of  the 
fine  gentlemen  were  shocked  by  the  impropriety  of  Thorn 
ton's  engaging  in  fisticuffs,  but  many  of  them  condoned 
this  when  they  learned  how  neatly  Thornton's  victory  had 
been  won  and  by  such  clean  hitting  as  kept  his  ignoble  foe 
at  ann's  length,  never  permitting  him  to  grapple.  Ould 
was  not  surprised  at  Thornton's  consent  to  such  an  arbitra 
ment,  attributing  it  to  his  morbid  independence,  which 
would  not  permit  him  to  leave  any  man  with  an  unsatisfied 
claim  against  him,  and  recalling  his  willingness  to  give, 
even  to  McCrae,  the  usual  satisfaction  of  the  code. 

McCrae  was  completely  cut  down  by  the  defeat  of  his 
champion ;  for  there  is  little  room  for  doubt  that  Williams 
was  expected  by  him  to  provoke  Thornton  to  a  quarrel  and 
a  fight,  in  which  the  superior  strength  of  Williams  should 
insure  an  easy  victory.  Finding  him  in  bed,  with  a  broken 
jaw,  a  direct  fracture,  and  therefore,  as  the  doctor  said, 
the  more  difficult  to  heal,  and  with  blackened  eyes,  and  an 
\igly  cut  on  the  forehead,  from  which  he  had  lost  much 
blood,  and  learning  that  Thornton  had  not  got  even  a 
scratch,  he  was  full  of  wonder :  and  now  recalling  the  an 
cient  rhyme  that  foreboded  the  alternate  rise  and  fall  of 
their  fortunes  and  the  disastrous  fate  of  all  that  should 
do  them  wrong,  and  recalling  also  a  night  attack  made 
long  ago  upon  Dick  Thornton,  when  his  life  had  been  saved 
by  a  rouleau  of  silver  in  his  pocket,  he  gave  implicit  super 
stitious  credence  to  the  prophetic  legend.  Awed  by  its 
seeming  verification,  and  trembling  at  his  own  predicament 
as  their  chief  active  aggressor  in  the  past,  he  resolved  not 
only  not  to  attempt  hereafter  to  do  them  injury,  but  to  do 
all  in  his  power  to  atone  for  what  he  had  already  done. 

One  other  incident  at  Lastlands,  the  last  of  the  series 
heretofore  indicated,  will  be  briefly  related.  One  night, 
when  Thornton  was  returning  from  the,  "offiqe/'  where  he 


Thornton  and  Williams  249 

had  been  engaged  with  Charles  Fetter,  putting  up  some 
necessary  fixtures,  and  having  sent  Charles  home,  had  re 
mained  behind  to  write  a  letter  to  Paul,  he  was  overtaken 
by  the  doctor  on  his  way  home  through  Lastlands.  Getting 
into  the  doctor's  gig,  he  rode  as  far  as  his  own  stile,  and 
when  he  had  alighted  there,  and  was  urging  the  doctor  to 
come  with  him  to  supper,  they  heard  from  beneath  the 
wide  platform  of  boards  that  made  the  stile  a  noise  as  of  a 
human  voice  groaning  or  snoring;  and  looking  there, 
Thornton  found  a  man  lying  upon  his  face,  insensible.  With 
the  aid  of  the  doctor  he  was  drawn  out,  and  proved  to  be 
Williams,  the  deputy  sheriff.  The  doctor's  diagnosis 
showed  a  contusion  on  the  back  of  the  head  and  another 
on  one  hand.  A  large  stone  that  lay  near  seemed  probably 
the  instrument  used,  but  whether  thrown  with  malicious 
intent,  or  cast  away  without  thought,  there  was  nothing 
to  show.  He  was  suffering  from  concussion  of  the  brain, 
as  Paul  had  suffered  after  their  affray. 

He  was  removed  into  a  room  in  the  "Lodge,"  Eeginald 
Thornton's  temporary  log  cabin,  where  Mr.  Wall  and  the 
doctor  remained  all  night  in  attendance  upon  him.  Re 
covering  from  his  insensible  condition  about  daybreak,  and 
learning  the  circumstances  under  which  he  had  been  found 
under  the  stile,  and  seeing  about  him  evidence  of  his  having 
been  kindly  ministered  to,  and  being  informed  that  he  was 
then  in  bed  at  Lastlands,  he  was  much  moved,  and  began 
at  once  making  ready  to  go  away;  and  obstinately  persist 
ing  in  this,  the  doctor  took  him  home  in  his  gig. 

In  a  field  nearby  his  horse  was  found  fastened,  and 
was  sent  after  him.  Soon  it  was  known  that  he  had  thrown 
up  his  office  of  deputy  sheriff  and  gone  back  to  Missouri. 

It  was  never  certainly  knoWn  how  Williams  received  this 
hurt.  There  was  a  whisper  among  the  slaves  that  Charles 
Fetter,  as  he  went  home,  seeing  Williams  lurking  on  the 
path,  and  after  to  hide  beneath  the  stile,  "drap  dat  rock 
on  his  head" ;  not  thinking  of  a  fatal  result,  but  only  of 
putting  him  Jiors  de  combat,  in  case  he  was  about  making 
a  deadly  assault  on  his  master,  as  he  believed  him  to  be. 
Williams  told  the  doctor  that  he  had  no  design  to  kill 
Thornton,  and  that  he  was  not  armed. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

MAJOR  TINSLET"S  ILLUSIONS  DISPELLED 
"Still  harping  on  my  daughter." 

THE  HOUSE  of  Major  Tinsley  had  made  slow  progress 
toward  completion — a  thing  not  unusual  in  rural  districts 
in  that  day.  The  professional  contractor  and  builder  was 
then  unknown  there,  and  separate  engagements  had  to  be 
made  with  each  of  the  many  handicraftsmen  employed  in 
the  building  of  a  house,  carpenter  and  joiner,  masons, 
painter,  plasterer ;  and  each  of  these  at  some  critical  period 
in  the  progress  of  the  work  was  sure  to  have  another  en 
gagement  on  another  building  where  there  was  a  like  crisis, 
and  to  go  away  thither,  and  thus  shifting  from  one  to 
another,  to  cause  all  around  vexatious  delays.  The  Major 
had  written  often  to  Thornton  expressing  impatience,  but 
congratulating  himself  upon  the  better  opportunity  for 
Thornton's  supervision  and  the  diminished  chances  of  any 
blunder  in  the  construction.  He  gave  an  amusing  account 
of  similar  delays  in  his  old  neighborhood,  where  he  declared 
that  he  had  known  a  building,  after  it  had  been  erected  and 
put  under  roof,  to  stand  awaiting  completion  until  it  grew 
old  enough  to  require  new  shingles,  yet  all  the  while  called 
''the  new  house";  serving  meanwhile  as  a  receptacle  for 
all  loose  things  about,  and,  in  fruitful  seasons,  stored  with 
grain  or  tobacco.  He  consoled  himself  with  the  considera 
tion  that  a  house  slowly  constructed  is  apt  to  be  better 
constructed,  and  especially  to  be  well  seasoned,  and  there 
fore  more  wholesome.  It  was  not  until  the  fall  of  the  year 
— some  time  early  in  October — that  the  Major  came  to 
take  possession  of  his  new  home,  arriving  with  his  wife  and 
servants  in  the  night. 

Thornton  and  his  household  had  promised  themselves 
250 


Major  Tinsley's  Illusions  Dispelled  251 

great  satisfaction  from  the  accession  of  such  neighbors  to 
the  Lastlands  society.  But  the  intimacy  between  the  two 
families  was  soon  clouded  by  circumstances  that  gave  an 
air  of  mystery  to  the  Tinsley  household.  In  all  the  visits 
exchanged  between  them,  the  daughter  of  Major  Tinsley, 
though  constantly  spoken  of  as  being  at  home,  had  never 
been  seen ;  and  the  son  still  remained,  as  they  said,  at  their 
old  home  in  the  tobacco  region.  Thornton  and  his  wife 
puzzled  much  over  these  strange  circumstances.  By  and 
by  the  son  came  to  the  new  home,  but  remained  only  a  few 
days,  and  then  went  back,  as  was  said,  to  the  old  home. 
A  part  of  the  mystery  was  thus  cleared  up,  but  the  invisible 
daughter  still  remained  a  puzzle.  While  riding  out  on 
horseback  Thornton  had  once  met  Mrs.  Tinsley  in  her 
carriage,  the  Major  seated  by  her  side,  and  casting  back 
his  eyes  after  he  had  saluted  them  as  they  passed  rapidly 
by,  he  saw  on  the  front  seat,  not  the  daughter,  as  he  ex 
pected,  but  only  a  framed  portrait  of  a  young  woman  rest 
ing  there.  This  further  complicated  the  mystery.  At  last 
they  had  ceased  to  speculate  upon  it,  the  visits  between 
the  two  households  became  less  and  less  frequent,  and  at 
last,  except  between  Thornton  and  Major  Tinsley,  the  fam 
ily  stood  on  the  formal  footing  maintained  in  the  inter 
course  of  factitious  life.  The  Major  had  been  accustomed 
to  come  daily  to  Lastlands,  and  this  he  still  continued  to 
do.  He  had  said  to  Thornton:  "You  may  look  for  me 
at  your  house  every  day,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  come,  and 
will  not  put  yourself  out  to  entertain  me,  but  just  go  on 
with  your  work  as  if  I  were  away  or  one  of  the  household. 
I  want  to  learn  your  methods  and  try  to  copy  what  you 
do,  as  well  as  I  may ;  and  I  want  your  society/' 

Thornton  promised  that  he  should  be  considered  as  one 
of  the  family,  and  on  this  footing  their  intimacy  was  per 
manently  fixed.  Nothing  was  said  by  Thornton  about  the 
mystery  of  the  daughter,  though  the  Major  continued  often 
to  speak  of  her,  but  seldom  of  the  son,  who  still  remained 
away  at  their  old  home. 

One  morning  the  Major  came  at  an  unusually  early  hour 
to  Lastlands,  and  announced  that  his  son  had  got  married, 
wrote;  to  me/'  he  said,  "inviting  my  consent,  but  not 


252  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

asking  it.  I  thought  to  try  how  much  he  was  in  earnest, 
and  answered  that  I  thought  him  too  young  to  marry,  and 
that  if  he  would  wait  two  years  I  would  give  him  the  means 
of  going  abroad  for  that  time,  and  of  seeing  the  world,  and 
would  make  liberal  provision  for  this.  He  replied  that 
he  did  not  care  to  go  abroad,  except  he  could  take  his  wife 
with  him:  reminding  me  of  what  I  did  not  suppose  he 
knew,  that  I  myself  had  got  married  at  the  same  early  age, 
and  had  always  been  an  advocate  of  early  marriages."  Here 
the  Major  laughed,  and  added :  "I  couldn't  leave  my  wife 
to  go  to  the  wedding,  but  gave  my  approval.  I  also  wrote 
a  letter  to  the  young  lady,  expressing  my  gratification  at 
the  choice  my  son  had  made,  also  to  the  parents  of  the  lady 
to  the  same  effect.  They  are  people  of  excellent  character, 
long  settled  in  my  old  neighborhood.  And  now  I  shall 
write  to  him  to  bring  his  wife  here,  and  when  he  comes 
we  shall  have  to  give  him  a  warm  welcome,  and  make  merry 
a  little/' 

And  then  the  sad  look,  so  often  observed,  came  over  his 
face. 

The  Major  continued  to  make  his  daily  visits  to  Last- 
lands  with  great  regularity.  Except  on  rare  occasions,  when 
some  matter  of  business  called  him  to  The  Falls,  he  was 
pretty  sure,  every  morning,  to  ride  over  on  his  sturdy  roan. 
Sometimes  the  weather  delayed  his  visit,  but  hardly  ever 
made  him  forego  it.  If  Thornton  was  engaged  in  the  field, 
where  he  always  supervised  the  work,  he  would  fasten  his 
horse  under  the  shed,  and  after  some  chat  with  Barbara 
and  Mrs.  Thornton,  ride  out  to  join  Thornton  in  the  field, 
going  home  always  a  little  after  noonday.  He  was  a  very 
agreeable  companion,  much  given  to  story  telling,  espe 
cially  stories  of  his  experience  as  a  trader. 

One  day  Thornton  and  his  wife  saw  more  marked  than 
usual  the  look  of  sadness  and  preoccupation,  so  often  on 
his  face,  and  his  manner  seemed  to  foreshadow  something 
in  his  mind  to  which  he  was  struggling  to  give  utterance. 
As  usual,  about  noonday,  he  had  put  on  his  gloves  and 
taken  up  his  whip,  as  if  about  to  go  away,  but  had  returned 
to  his  seat  on  the  veranda,  and  at  last  permitted  his  horse 
to  be  put  away,  and  stayed  to  dinner.  All  day  he  wore  a 


Major  Tinsley's  Illusions  Dispelled  253 

sad,  anxious  face,  often  sighing  heavily,  and  walking  rest 
lessly  about.  Late  in  the  day  he  asked  to  have  his  horse 
brought  out,  and  when  the  order  had  been  given  to  the 
servant  he  turned  to  Thornton  with  a  face  in  which  agita 
tion  was  strongly  manifested,  and  said:  "Friend  Thorn 
ton,  come  with  me  into  your  library.  I  want  to  speak  to 
you  confidentially." 

When  they  had  entered  the  room,  and  the  Major  had 
closed  the  door,  he  began  to  walk  the  floor  to  and  fro,  de 
clining  the  chair  Thornton  had  offered  him  by  waving 
it  away  without  speaking.  At  last  he  said :  "You  sit  down 
— I  cannot  talk  if  I  sit — and  have  a  little  patience  with 
my  weakness."  Then  after  a  few  more  turns  across  the 
floor  he  stopped  before  Thornton,  who  was  full  of  wonder, 
and  said:  "I  have  a  secret  to  impart  to  you,  if  you  will 
permit  me — a  family  secret/' 

Thornton  bowed,  saying:  "Certainly,  if  you  think 
proper." 

"It  is  a  strange  matter,  and  concerns  only  my  own  house 
hold.  I  have  never  before  known  any  man  to  whom  I  could 
bring  myself  to  speak  of  my  family  affairs,  or  whom  I 
thought  capable  of  giving  me  any  help.  I  feel  sure  at 
least  of  your  sympathy  in  a  trouble  that  to  many  would  be 
only  a  subject  for  derision.  And  I  feel  that  somehow  you 
can  help  me.  You  have  often  heard  me  speak  of  my  daugh 
ter?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  have  wondered  why  she  has  never  been  over 
to  Lastlands,  and  why  in  your  many  visits  to  my  house  you 
have  never  seen  her  ?" 

"Yes." 

"And  your  wife  has  wondered,  and  you  have  talked  it 
over?" 

"Yes ;  but  not  being  able  to  make  any  reasonable  conjec 
ture,  we  dismissed  it,  thinking  that  it  would  all  be  ex 
plained  in  good  time,  and  that  it  was  a  thing  into  which 
we  had  no  right  to  pry." 

"Well,  my  dear  friend,  I  have  no  daughter !  No,  my 
friend,  no  daughter !  We  had  a  daughter  once.  How  dear 
she  was  to  us — how  good — I  will  not  try  to  tell  you.  How 


254  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

we  idolized  her,  how  worthy  in  every  way  she  was  of  our 
love — I  could  not  do  that.  But  we  have  no  daughter  now, 
but  only  her  picture,  the  portrait  you  may  have  seen  in 
the  carriage  that  day  you  met  us  driving. 

"Twelve  years  ago  this  day  my  daughter  died!  And 
now  I  want  to  explain  to  you  why  we  kept  up  the  delusion 
that  we  have  still  a  daughter  living.  You  must  know  that 
my  wife  was  heartbroken  by  her  loss — stricken  down  as  by 
a  bolt  from  heaven.  For  a  long  time  we  feared  that  she 
was  bereft  of  reason.  She  lay  in  her  chamber  a  month, 
sleeping  only  under  opiates,  eating  only  what  our  importu 
nity  forced  upon  her,  in  a  condition  of  utter  prostration — 
despair.  The  doctor  feared  the  worst,  and  at  last,  saying 
that  anything  was  better  than  the  stolid  condition  into 
which  she  had  sunk,  told  me,  while  she  slept,  to  have  the 
picture  of  her  child  brought  into  her  chamber  and  fixed 
there ;  not  where  it  might  seem  to  be  obtruded  on  her  sight, 
but  in  some  inconspicuous  place,  where  her  eyes  might 
casually  rest  upon  it.  This  was  done.  For  some  hours, 
though  awake,  she  did  not  see  it.  But  at  last  she  discovered 
the  picture,  which  hung  in  an  obscure  light.  She  did  not 
start,  nor  make  any  outcry,  nor  exhibit  any  great  emotion, 
but  only  gazed  for  a  long  time  with  a  perplexed  look,  and 
at  last  her  eyes  began  to  glaze,  and  tears  came,  and  like 
a  child  she  cried  herself  to  sleep.  This  was  her  only  natu 
ral  sleep,  and  these  the  only  tears  she  had  shed,  since  the 
child  died.  From  that  time  she  got  better.  Soon  she  got 
up,  cleaned  up  the  room,  refusing  the  services  of  her  maid, 
and  continued  to  do  this  for  some  months,  growing  all  the 
while  better  until  she  reached  a  normal  condition,  except 
that  she  treated  the  picture  as  if  it  were  her  living  child ! 
I  gladly  gave  in  to  this  illusion,  and  we  have  gone  on  in 
this  way  these  long  years.  Without  that  picture  I  believe 
she  would  have  died  or  gone  mad.  In  all  ways  she  behaves 
now  as  if  the  child  were  living.  She  talks  to  her,  talks 
of  her,  as  you  know,  buys  dresses  for  her,  has  her  piano 
tuned,  her  chamber  cared  for,  moving  the  picture  there, 
and  bidding  her  good-night;  taking  her  to  ride,  as  you 
saw  once — going  through  all  this  and  more,  just  as  if  the 
child  were  still  in  the  flesh.  It  was  a  pitiable  sight  to  me, 


Major  Tinsley's  Illusions  Dispelled  255 

until  at  last,  by  encouraging,  I  came  to  partake  of  this 
illusion,  and  found  a  solace  in  it,  not  directly  perhaps,  but 
reflectively  from  my  wife,  which  I  am  afraid  even  you  will 
not  appreciate.  Of  course,  I  was  not  possessed  of  this 
tender  cheat  as  was  the  poor  mother,  being  of  a  rougher 
nature  and  in  active  life  all  the  time;  but  even  with  me 
it  answered  a  good  end,  and  I  carried  it  about  with  me 
everywhere. 

"But  now  this  illusion  has  been  dispelled — so  far  dis 
pelled  as  to  fill  me  with  dread  as  to  what  may  occur  with 
my  wife — dispelled  by  your  little  Barbara.  You  know 
what  great  friends  we  are.  She  loves  to  hear  me  talk  of 
my  daughter.  She  seems  to  know,  intuitively,  that  there 
is  some  sorrow  in  that  direction,  and  she  never  fails  to 
manifest  her  sympathy  in  some  delicate  way.  She  will  go 
into  the  garden  here  and  get  a  flower  for  my  button,  and 
bring  loads  of  roses  and  other  flowers  for  me  to  take  home 
to  my  daughter.  She  has  touched  my  heart  as  it  might 
not  have  been  touched  save  for  the  strange  predicament 
in  which  we  stand,  cheating  ourselves  with  a  picture  of  our 
dead  darling.  She  forces  on  my  mind  again  and  again 
the  thought  of  what  might  have  been,  if  the  good  God  had 
spared  our  angel.  All  the  solacing  illusion  has  well-nigh 
vanished,  and  my  loss  is  upon  me  with  its  primal  force. 
You  cannot  know  how  like  she  is,  in  many  ways."  (Here 
he  paused  for  a  moment.)  "I  am  afraid  I  cannot  make 
myself  understood.  I  am  like  an  artist  I  knew,  a  painter, 
who  went  into  Mammoth  Cave,  and  was  infatuated  by  the 
Star  Chamber  there  and  wanted  to  paint  it,  and  passed 
days  and  nights  there,  studying  how  he  should  do  this, 
and  at  last,  after  having  passed  a  week  in  the  cave,  came 
out  one  crisp  October  night,  and  when  he  reached  the  open 
air,  and  looked  up  and  saw  the  sky  loaded  with  stars,  he 
threw  up  his  hands  and  cried,  'God  forgive  me!  This  is 
the  real  star  chamber,'  and  never  went  into  the  cave  again. 

"But  it  is  not  for  myself  that  I  am  concerned.  No,  no ! 
I  cannot  say  that  my  burden  is  greater  than  I  can  bear. 
But  my  wife !  When  she  shall  come  to  know  your  Barbara, 
as  she  will,  and  feel  as  I  do  now,  as  she  must — have  this 
illusion  dispelled  as  I  have  had  it  dispelled — I  am  afraid 


256  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

to  forecast  the  issue.  Sooner  or  later  she  must  be  brought 
to  this  test,  and  for  this  reason,  and  because  you  are  entitled 
to  know  this  painful  history,  I  tell  you  of  all  our  unhappi- 
ness,  and  seek  your  counsel,  and  invoke  your  aid,  and  that 
of  your  good  wife.  I  implore  you  to  help  us  in  this 
trouble." 

"My  good  friend,"  replied  Thornton,  "you  may  count 
upon  us  both.  I  will  counsel  with  my  wife,  and  be  assured 
that  any  service  that  we  may  be  able  to  give  shall  be  gladly 
rendered." 

"Ah!  Well,  I  knew  you  would  do  it!  It  is  selfish  in 
me  to  feel  that  my  burden  has  been  already  lightened  by 
shifting  a  part  of  it  to  your  shoulders !  Good-night,  and 
God  bless  you !"  And  then  he  quickly  mounted  his  horse 
and  rode  away. 


CHAPTEE  XXVI 

OLD  LITIGANTS 

"So  when  a  fisher  swain  by  chance  hath  spy'd 

A  big  grown  pike  pursue  the  lesser  fry, 
He  sits  a  withy  labyrinth  beside, 

And  with  fair  baits  allures  his  nimble  eye, 
Which  he  invading  with  outstretched  fin, 
Is  suddenly  encompassed  with  the  gin." 

THERE  was  at  this  period  in  Kentucky  a  peculiar  class 
of  men  known  to  lawyers  as  "old  litigants."  Their  main 
business  in  life  was  to  engage  in  lawsuits.  If  they  bought 
or  sold,  bartered  or  exchanged,  leased  or  surrendered,  it 
was  with  a  view  to  a  possible  lawsuit.  In  laying  the  foun 
dation  for  these  suits,  of  course,  a  certain  quantum  of  legal 
knowledge  was  necessary.  This  they  acquired  by  constant 
attendance  on  the  law  courts,  where  they  were  close  observ 
ers  of  the  proceedings,  especially  of  the  ruling  of  the  court, 
and  picked  up,  for  use  in  their  business/'  many  valuable 
"points  of  law."  Much  was  learned  also  from  the  trial  of 
their  own  numerous  cases.  Even  when  unsuccessful  they 
got  some  benefit;  for  a  man  never  forgets  a  point  of  law 
upon  which  he  has  been  beaten.  Doubtless  these  characters 
have  been  known  among  all  civilized  peoples.  They  are 
said  to  have  been  well  known  among  the  ancient  Komans, 
and  were  called  by  Cicero  "Comitiales  homines"  litigious 
men,  and  were  supposed  to  have  been  satirized  by  Plautus 
under  the  name  of  "Fefasti,"  men  who  were  always  to  be 
found  about  the  courts,  attending  even  on  a  holiday,  or 
"dies  non,"  from  force  of  habit.  But  modern  scholars  in 
cline  to  think  that  the  name  applied  by  Plautus  referred 
to  another  class  that  frequented  the  comitia  for  the  pur 
pose  of  selling  their  votes,  the  prototypes  of  our  modern 
election  Cfbummers." 

257  .    -   -  -   ' 


258  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Mr.  Backstep,  Abraham  Backstop,  was  a  distinguished 
"old  litigant/'  living  in  the  town  and  doing  business  there, 
and  in  the  adjacent  country.  He  was  a  large,  clumsy  man, 
awkward  but  energetic  in  movement,  of  sanguine  tempera 
ment,  yellow-red  hair,  light  blue  eyes,  and  a  thin  papery 
skin  inclined  to  peel,  and  was  about  forty  years  old.  He 
was  a  professing  Christian,  having  a  footing  in  some  one 
of  the  denominations  represented  in  the  little  town.  Rus 
sell,  an  over-zealous  Churchman  (a  "swaddler,"  Mclntyre 
called  him),  being  asked  to  what  denomination  Backstep 
belonged,  answered,  "He  is  a  Baptist,  but  whether  a  whisky 
Baptist,  a  Hardshell,  a  Calvinistic,  a  Free  Will,  a  Free 
Communion,  a  Seventh  Day,  a  Six  Principle,  or  an  Eman 
cipator,  I  do  not  know.  There  has  been  a  second  confusion 
of  tongues,  to  stop  the  building  of  a  new  Tower  of  Babel." 

Backstep  had  somewhere  imbibed  that  wise  maxim  of 
Machiavelli,  now  so  commonly  accepted,  that  a  show  of 
religion  is  an  advantage  to  a  man  in  his  worldly  pursuits; 
and  had  accordingly  put  on  that  ample  and  convenient 
cloak.  But  this  cloak  he  could  easily  put  off,  when  that 
suited  his  purpose ;  and  though  he  yielded  to  all  the  formal 
requirements  of  his  church,  and  paid  punctually  his  quota 
into  the  treasury,  and  looked  as  sanctimonious  in  its  meet 
ings  as  any  devotee  there,  he  was,  when  in  the  world,  seem 
ingly  of  the  world  the  most  worldly;  in  fact,  sometimes 
little  better  than  one  of  the  wicked.  Vanity  often  made 
him  incautious,  when  he  did  not  hesitate  to  accept  the 
doubtful  compliments  paid  to  his  shrewdness  in  his  peculiar 
profession.  He  was  then  not  only  not  ashamed  of  the 
"bad  eminence"  he  had  attained  as  an  "old  litigant,"  but 
took  pride  in  it,  and  used  to  reply  jocularly  to  those  that 
assailed  him  on  account  of  his  sharp  practice:  "Never 
mind ;  I'll  get  a  hold  on  you  some  day."  So  strong  is  the 
pride  of  art,  that  often  men  will  vaunt  themselves  upon 
what  is  by  common  consent  opprobrious.  But  this  did  not 
subject  Backstep  to  public  odium.  There  is  in  the  open,  un 
blushing  avowal  of  profligacy  an  element  of  the  ridiculous 
which  inclines  men  to  condone  it.  One  of  the  most  enter 
taining  novels  of  a  modern  humorist  is  that  in  which  the 
hero,  with  an  air  of  happy  unconsciousness,  tells  the  story 


Old  Litigants  259 

of  his  own  infamy.  And  two  men,  in  our  day,  in  our  land, 
have  made  their  shame  a  commodity,  by  publishing  and 
selling  histories  of  their  frauds  upon  the  public;  failing 
only  because  of  the  essential  meanness  of  their  cheats,  and 
a  lack  of  the  "happy  unconsciousness."  In  Backstep's  case, 
people  laughed  and  forgave  him.  After  all,  his  practices 
were  within  the  law,  and  could  succeed  only  by  the  aid  of 
its  strong  arm.  This,  with  his  reputation  for  being  "a 
good  judge  of  law/'  and  constantly  associated  in  the  com 
mon  mind  with  lawyers  and  other  dignitaries  of  the  courts, 
and  wearing  a  queue,  lent  a  certain  elevation  to  his  pro 
fession. 

Another  distinguished  old  litigant  was  Jacob  Tyte,  who 
lived  in  a  neighboring  county.  He  was  little  known  about 
The  Falls,  having  never  "done  business"  there,  but  confined 
his  practice  to  his  own  county.  There  he  had  so  harried 
people  with  lawsuits  that,  at  last,  no  man  could  be  found 
in  the  county  willing  to  have  any  kind  of  business  transac 
tion  with  him,  for  fear,  as  the  popular  phrase  expressed  it, 
of  the  "come-back,"  by  which  was  meant  a  suit  at  law 
grounded  on  breach  of  covenant,  fraud,  actual  or  con 
structive,  failure  of  consideration,  or  some  one  of  the  in 
numerable  grounds  of  an  action  at  law.  The  field  at  home 
being  thus  practically  closed  to  Mr.  Jacob  Tyte,  he  found 
it  necessary  to  look  elsewhere,  and,  a  few  years  before  the 
time  of  which  we  write,  in  search  of  "fresh  woods  and 
pastures  new,"  he  had  come  down,  in  the  autumn  term  of 
the  court,  to  The  Falls. 

Tyte  was  a  man  of  medium  height,  thin  but  wiry,  straight 
as  an  arrow,  and  exceedingly  well  formed.  His  hair  was 
dark  brown,  barely  touched  with  gray,  his  face  colorless 
and  waxen,  his  eyes  long  and  gray  like  a  falcon's,  his  brow 
broad  and  smooth,  his  nose  springing  from  beneath  it  with 
an  arch  like  the  bend  of  a  Turkish  saber.  Altogether,  he 
looked  the  bold,  capable,  imperious,  vigorous  man  he  was 
known  at  home  to  be.  But  he  too  had  a  cloak  which  he 
could  put  on  at  pleasure,  hiding  all  this,  and  showing  to 
the  world  an  outside  almost  its  opposite.  With  this  cloak, 
when  he  came  to  The  Falls,  he  covered  himself  from  top 
to  toe.  There  he  walked  with  a  stoop,  complained  of  ill 


260  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

health,  affected  to  be  in  expectation  of  an  early  demise  and 
consequently  to  have  lost  all  interest  in  business  of  every 
kind;  to  desire  now  only  to  set  his  house  in  order,  and 
leave  to  his  family  his  "little  possessions"  free  from  com 
plication,  especially  from  lawsuits,  which  he  professed  to 
abhor.  Certainly  a  mild-mannered,  gentlemanly,  dignified 
man.  Dressed  in  dark  gray  homespun  cloth,  with  his  long 
hair  combed  back  over  the  top  of  his  head,  and  smoothed 
behind  his  ears,  and  wearing  an  ample  white  cravat,  he 
had  a  mild,  almost  clerical,  look,  and  his  presence  com 
manded  a  certain  deference  everywhere.  But  beneath  this 
soft  exterior  of  "Old  Bitterwater,"  as  he  was  called  at 
home,  there  lay  hidden  the  courage  of  the  lion,  the  rapacity 
of  the  eagle,  the  cunning  of  the  fox,  limbs  of  iron  and 
nerves  of  steel. 

These  distinguished  old  litigants  had  never  met,  but  were 
well  known  by  fame  to  each  other,  and  each  had  harbored 
a  lively  professional  jealousy  of  the  other.  Backstep,  when 
Tyte  was  first  pointed  out  to  him  in  the  courtroom,  ex 
pressed  much  surprise.  "What!  that  Jake  Tyte?  Impos 
sible!"  he  exclaimed. 

It  was  not  long  before  these  great  men  gravitated  to 
gether,  and  engaged  in  talk.  Backstep  did  not  hesitate  to 
express  to  his  confidential  friends  his  utter  disappointment 
in  Tyte.  "He  has  been  overrated:  one  of  those  men  that 
are  great  in  the  wilderness,  but  fall  away  when  brought 
into  the  settlement.  Has  been  a  better  man  in  his  day, 
perhaps,  but  is  now  utterly  broken  down." 

Tyte's  ill  health  was  a  frequent  subject  of  talk  for  Back- 
step.  His  pallor  and  a  little  affected  hacking  cough  gave 
him  the  appearance  of  a  man  in  failing  health,  and  con 
vinced  Backstep  that  it  was  true,  what  Tyte  said  he  feared 
for  himself,  that  he  was  "going  into  a  decline."  Mean 
time,  these  old  litigants  grew  more  intimate  every  day; 
holding  whispered  talks  in  the  courtroom,  and  long  con 
ferences  out  in  the  autumn  sun,  in  the  courthouse  yard. 
One  day  it  was  known  that  Tyte  had  gone  home  to  dinner 
with  Backstep;  then  that  he  had  dined  there  every  day; 
finally,  that  he  had  taken  up  his  quarters  there;  and  at 


Old  Litigants  261 

last,  that  Tyte  had  gone  home  to  the  country,  and  that 
Backstep  had  gone  with  him. 

The  old  lawyers,  who  had  been  observant  of  their  in 
timacy,  knew  that  a  lawsuit  would  grow  out  of  it;  and 
many  were  the  jokes  they  cracked  about  the  conjunction 
of  these  "stars  of  the  first  magnitude."  There  was  much 
speculation  also  as  to  the  character  of  the  suit  that  would 
result,  and  the  lawyers  likely  to  be  employed.  "It  will  be 
for  big  stakes  when  it  comes  off,"  said  Ould,  "and  they 
will  both  play  trumps  to  the  last.  I  have  been  for  and 
against  both  of  them,  and  I  think  I  shall  have  a  hand  in 
the  game.  Backstep  will  find  he  has  caught  a  Tartar." 

"Did  you  ever  get  a  good  fee  from  Backstep?"  said 
Wilson,  one  of  the  leading  attorneys.  "He  has  been  my 
client  in  a  good  many  cases,  and  I  could  never  get  him  to 
pay  a  decent  fee." 

"That  has  been  my  experience,  too,"  said  Ould,  "but,  if 
I  am  in  this  case  for  him,  I'll  make  him  settle  all  arrears. 
If  he  wants  me,  he  will  want  me  very  badly,  and  he  shall 
be  put  upon  conditions  from  the  start." 

Not  long  afterward  Backstep  came  back  to  The  Falls, 
and  soon  made  it  known  that  he  had  leased  from  Tyte,  for 
a  term  of  years,  a  large  property  in  mills,  a  flouring-mill, 
a  corn-mill,  and  a  saw-mill,  on  the  most  favorable  terms — • 
"terms  so  favorable,  that  I  will  easily  make  a  fortune  out 
of  them." 

For  more  than  two  years  Backstep  had  passed  most  of 
his  time  at  these  mills.  Then  it  was  known  that  he  and 
Tyte  had  quarreled,  and  that  Tyte  had  brought  suit  against 
him,  claiming  as  his  percentum  upon  the  gross  earnings 
of  the  mills  and  the  use  of  timber  something  like  twenty 
thousand  dollars.  Backstep,  protesting  that  he  had  not 
made  any  money  with  the  mills,  because  the  machinery, 
and  especially  the  boilers  and  pumps,  for  some  inscrutable 
cause,  were  constantly  getting  out  of  order,  thus  arresting 
the  operation  of  the  mills,  treated  the  suit  lightly  at  first. 
But  when  he  came  to  consider  deliberately  the  terms  of 
the  lease,  and  how  he  had  obligated  himself  to  account  to 
Tyte  for  the  earnings  of  the  mills,  and  pay  a  certain  per 
centum  of  these  earnings,  and  how  very  great  their  capacity 


262  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

was,  barring  the  frequent  disorder  of  the  machinery,  and 
how  Tyte  would  have  only  to  show  this  great  capacity  to 
throw  the  onus  of  proof  upon  him  as  to  the  interfering 
agency ;  and  saw  the  great  array  of  proof  Tyte  was  collect 
ing  to  show  the  capacity  of  the  mills  to  earn  money,  their 
good  condition  when  they  came  into  his  hands,  and  their 
subsequent  depreciation,  with  leaking  boilers  and  disabled 
pumps;  and  having  now  discovered  the  true  character  of 
Tyte,  and  how  grossly  he  had  been  deceived  as  to  the  state 
of  his  health,  and  having  had  one  interview  with  that  gen 
tleman,  after  which  he  desired  never  to  confront  him  again, 
he  became  greatly  concerned. 

Men  like  Backstep,  dishonest  and  weak,  naturally  reach 
cut,  when  in  extremity,  to  the  honest  and  strong.  Hurry 
ing  along  the  street,  muttering  to  himself,  as  was  his  habit, 
and  hugging  beneath  his  left  arm  the  big  leather  portfolio 
in  which  he  carried  his  multitudinous  papers,  he  met  Digby. 
That  sturdy  gentleman  openly  despised  him,  as  he  well 
knew,  but  in  his  demoralized  condition  he  could  not  for 
bear  to  stretch  out  a  hand  toward  Digby,  and,  with  an  air 
of  supplication,  ask  him  to  stop  and  hear  a  statement  of 
his  case,  and  give  him  some  counsel.  Then  followed  an 
account  of  his  troubles  with  the  mills,  the  machinery,  as 
has  been  stated,  constantly  getting  out  of  order,  especially 
the  pumps  and  boilers;  and  how,  when  refitted  with  new 
pumps  and  new  boilers,  these  were  soon  found  in  the  same 
condition.  After  a  long  story,  of  which  this  is  a  condensed 
statement,  and  after  vehement  denunciation  of  Tyte,  he 
begged  Digby  to  give  him  advice. 

"Backstep,"  said  Digby,  "I  have  no  regard  for  such  fel 
lows  as  you  and  Tyte,  professional  litigants;  but  as  I  am 
always  on  the  under  dog  in  a  fight,  and  as  you  are  our  dog. 
I  will  give  you  some  advice.  Go  to  Bob  Ould  with  your 
ease.  Pay  him  a  good  retaining  fee — a  good  fee,  mind  you ; 
no  such  petty  fee  as  heretofore " 

"Why,  Mr.  Digby/'  interrupted  Backstep,  "I  have  al 
ways  paid  Mr.  Ould " 

"Well,  I  know  all  about  that  now,  and  I  know  that  you 
never  paid  him  a  decent  fee  in  your  life.  You  must  do  it 
this  time,  for  he  is  the  only  man  that  can  save  you  from 


Old  Litigants  263 

Tyte's  clutches.  Ould  has  some  peculiar  knowledge — mark 
this,  now — some  peculiar  knowledge  in  relation  to  the  sub 
ject-matter  of  this  suit,  which  may  be  of  vital  importance 
to  you.  You  had  better  see  him  at  once  lest  he  be  retained 
by  Tyte." 

Then  Digby  walked  away,  leaving  Backstep,  who  stood 
some  moments  in  meditation  and  then  hastened  off,  clawing 
along  in  his  strong,  awkward  way  to  Quid's  office.  He 
quickened  his  pace  as  he  thought  over  the  words  emphasized 
by  Digby,  about  Ould  having  some  peculiar  knowledge  of 
the  subject-matter  of  the  suit,  and  of  the  suggestion  that 
he  might  be  retained  by  Tyte. 

A  few  days  before  this  the  imbroglio  of  Tyte  and  Back- 
step  had  been  a  subject  of  talk  between  Ould  and  Digby, 
when  Ould  had  imparted  to  his  friend  the  peculiar  informa 
tion  to  which  Digby  had  referred.  Whereupon,  Digby  had 
insisted  that  Ould,  when  Backstep  should  come  to  retain 
him,  should  make  him  pay  a  good  fee.  "Bob  Ould,"  said 
Digby,  "you  lack  self-assertion.  You  have  been  the  under 
paid  servant  of  clients,  and  of  lawyers  as  well,  ever  since 
you  have  been  in  the  profession.  I  have  no  objection  to  the 
charitable  work  you  do  for  poor  clients  and  helpless  women 
and  children.  I  don't  complain  that  you  have  monopolized 
that  part  of  the  practice  at  the  bar,  but  when  you  get  a 
client  able  to  pay  the  proper  fee,  it  is  your  duty  to  exact  it ; 
and  when  a  scamp  like  Backstep,  or  Jake  Tyte,  or  any  other 
of  those  pestiferous  professional  litigants  engage  your 
services,  you  are  under  a  moral  obligation  to  make  them  pay 
the  highest  rate;  a  rate  high  enough  to  appease  in  some 
degree  their  appetite  for  law.  They  are  .public  nuisances, 
which  every  man  ought  to  lend  a  hand  to  abate.  I  know 
from  what  you  have  told  me  that  you  can  defeat  Tyte's  suit, 
and  if  I  fall  in  with  Backstep  I  will  tell  him  enough  to 
make  him  know  the  importance  of  retaining  you,  and  of 
paying  you  a  good  fee  to  boot.  Now  promise  me  that 
you  will  hold  him  off  awhile,  and  make  him  pay  at  least 
twenty-five  hundred  or  three  thousand  dollars;  and,  mind 
you,  hold  him  off  a  while." 

Ould  laughed  outright,  gratified  at  Digby's  zeal  in  his 
behalf,  and  promised  to  do  as  he  required.  And  the  op- 


264  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

portunity  soon  occurred,  as  we  have  seen,  for  Digby  to  send 
Backstep  in  an  anxious  state  of  mind  to  Quid's  office. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Backstep  reached  the  office  of  Quid. 
He  found  the  lawyer  in  the  back  room  busily  writing,  with 
many  bundles  of  legal  documents  before  him.  Walking 
rapidly  in,  with  that  awkward,  noisy  tread  habitual  to  him, 
Backstep  said,  "Mr.  Ould,  I  want  to  see  you  on  business." 

"You  will  have  to  excuse  me  just  now,"  said  Ould,  barely 
glancing  from  the  paper  before  him,  "I  am  very  busy ;  but 
take  a  seat." 

Backstep  took  a  chair  and  Ould  continued  writing.  After 
some  minutes  Backstep  rose  from  his  seat  and  said,  "Mr. 
Ould,  I  want  to  see  you  on  professional  business  of  great 
importance." 

"You  must  excuse  me  just  now,"  said  Ould,  "1  have  in 
hand  very  important  business  for  a  client  who  has  paid  me 
a  large  retaining  fee,  and  I  cannot  quit  it  at  this  moment, 
upon  any  consideration.  Come  in  the  morning." 

"No,  sir;  the  morning  won't  answer  my  purpose.  I 
want  to  see  you  right  now." 

"I  cannot  possibly  attend  to  you  at  this  moment,"  said 
Ould,  resuming  his  writing. 

While  Ould  continued  to  write,  Backstep  walked  the  floor 
of  the  office.  He  thought  again  of  that  peculiar  knowledge 
which  Ould  was  said  to  possess,  and  then  the  thought 
flashed  upon  him,  that  he  might  already  have  been  retained 
by  Tyte,  the  very  idea  of  which  put  him  in  a  cold  sweat. 
He  stepped  close  to  Ould  and  thundered  out,  "Mr.  Ould,  I 
must  have  your  attention !  I  want  your  professional  serv 
ices,  and  I  must  have  them,  and  I  am  both  willing  and  able 
to  pay  for  them." 

"Can't  you  come  at  ten  o'clock  to-night?" 

"No,  sir ;  I  want  your  attention  right  now !" 

"Well,  Mr.  Backstep,"  said  Ould,  laying  aside  his  pen, 
"if  I  must  hear  you  now,  please  state  the  case  as  briefly  as 
possible.  I  cannot  do  more  than  hear  it  now,  and  you  must 
be  brief." 

Then  Backstep  stated  his  case,  not  briefly  by  any  means, 
but  at  great  length,  mingling  with  his  statements  impre 
cations  upon  Tyte,  whom  he  denounced  as  the  greatest 


Old  Litigants  265 

hypocrite  and  rogue  alive,  and  at  last  asked  Ould  what  he 
would  ask  to  defend  the  suit  against  him. 

"Five  hundred  dollars  down,"  said  Ould,  "as  a  retaining 
fee,  and  two  thousand  contingent  upon  defeating  Tyte's 
whole  claim." 

"I  will  give  it,"  said  Backstep,  eagerly,  and  taking  out 
his  pocket-book  he  filled  a  check  for  the  retainer.  Mean 
time,  Ould  wrote  a  bond  for  the  contingent  fee,  which  Back- 
step  signed,  and  the  business  was  closed.  Then  Backstep, 
greatly  relieved,  wanted  to  talk  about  the  case  and  the  line 
of  defense,  but  Ould  pleaded  a  pressure  of  business,  ap 
pointing  an  early  hour  next  morning  for  a  conference,  and 
Backstep,  though  he  felt  like  talking  all  night  upon  this 
theme,  reluctantly  went  away. 

Next  day  Ould  and  Backstep  met  early  at  the  office  in 
consultation  about  the  defense.  Ould  told  him  to  get  some 
person  in  good  credit,  and  well  known  to  the  community, 
to  go  down  to  the  mills,  and  get  in  jugs  or  other  vessels 
a  sample  of  the  water  from  each  of  the  wells  that  supplied 
the  boilers.  "Have  these  sealed  and  taken  to  old  man 
Davis  at  Lastlands.  He  is  a  chemist  and  will  analyze  the 
water,  and  make  a  memorandum  of  its  elements.  It  con 
tains  a  corrosive  material  which  eats  away  the  iron  of  the 
boilers  and  pumps.  Tyte  discovered  this  while  he  ran  the 
mills  on  his  own  account,  and,  finding  that  he  could  not 
make  them  profitable,  by  reason  of  the  frequent  interrup 
tion  of  the  work  from  this  cause,  closed  them,  put  them  in 
order,  and  lay  in  wait  to  lease  them  to  some  responsible 
person,  for  a  certain  rent  and  a  percentage  on  the  earnings, 
with  a  view  to  just  such  a  lawsuit  as  this  against  you." 

This  case  was  set  for  final  trial  early,  the  fall  term  now 
close  at  hand,  and  required  vigilant  attention  from  Mr. 
Ould. 


CHAPTEE  XXVII 

JOHN  D.  ON  THE  FALLS 

"They  loved  to  walk  where  none  had  walked  before, 
About  the  rocks  that  ran  along  the  shore, 
Or  far  beyond  the  sight  of  men  to  stray: 
They  loved  to  stop  at  every  creek  and  bay 
Made  by  the  river  in  its  winding  way." 

JOHN  D.  and  Bradstreet  had  parted  on  a  Friday  evening 
with  an  agreement  to  meet  at  daylight  next  morning  at 
Hare's  boatshop  and  go  over  to  Goose  Island,  to  pass  the 
day  there  in  fishing  and  shooting.  Bright  and  inspiring 
to  the  boys  was  the  October  weather,  and  dear  to  them  the 
romantic  precincts  of  the  falls.  They  had  waded  over  every 
fordable  chute  there;  they  had  fished  in  every  eddy  on  the 
north  side  of  these  islands,  along  which  in  low  water  flows 
the  great  volume  of  the  river.  They  had  sat  behind  the 
sheet  of  water  that  pours  over  the  shelving  rocks  at  the  head 
of  the  big  chute  through  Goose  Island,  watching  the  fishes 
that  lie  in  the  deep  well  dug  there  by  the  water  in  the  solid 
rock;  wondering  over  the  strange  sight  of  fishes  ascending 
through  the  falling  sheet.  Every  current,  and  eddy,  and 
whirl,  and  every  jutting  rock  and  sandy  bank,  and  every 
clump  of  willows  in  this  enchanting  region  was  familiar 
to  them  as  the  streets  and  houses  of  their  own  town. 

Having  his  satchel  well  filled  with  substantial  food  for 
the  day,  a  piece  of  middling  bacon,  and  a  small  frying  pan, 
and  a  coffee  pot  with  a  supply  of  ground  coffee,  a  huge  pone 
of  corn  bread,  and  an  onion  for  Bradstreet,  and  his  hunt 
ing  knife,  and  fishing-rod  and  net,  all  in  order,  John  D. 
went  early  to  bed,  leaving  an  injunction  on  his  old  nurse 
to  awaken  him  before  daylight.  He  was  filled  with  a  sense 
of  happiness,  and  said  his  prayers  that  night  with  uncom 
mon  unction,  and  not  sleepily  and  in  a  perfunctory  way,  as 

266 


John  D.  on  the  Falls  267 

he  had  often  done.  John  D.  was  one  of  those  who  see  the 
good  God  only  in  His  goodness ;  whose  hearts  overflow  with 
gratitude  for  the  happiness  they  find  in  the  world.  He 
knew  only  a  God  of  love  and  mercy,  and  had  no  faith  in 
that  terrible  being  so  fearfully  pictured  in  sermons  of  that 
day,  "a  God  of  vengeance."  His  mind  revolted  from  the 
lake  of  fire,  and  the  molten  lead  and  brimstone,  and  other 
"Tartarean  drenches"  prescribed  for  thirsting  sinners  in 
the  "All  hail  hereafter!"  Nay,  when  he  and  his  crony 
talked  over  these  matters,  as  they  often  did,  he  told  Brad- 
street  that  if  these  horrors  were  true,  and  there  did  exist 
such  a  being,  he  would  revolt  and  manfully  fight  on  the 
side  of  the  devil;  and  at  Bradstreet's  reply,  "It's  best  to 
believe  it  all;  it  may  be  true,"  he  laughed  heartily.  This 
was  doubtless  very  shocking  conduct,  but  this  chronicler 
does  not  feel  at  liberty  to  withhold  the  truth.  Nor  must 
lie  fail  to  record  that,  on  being  awakened  before  daybreak 
the  next  morning,  and  hearing  the  singing  of  the  birds,  and 
the  crowing  of  the  cocks,  and  the  loud,  clear  trumpeting  of 
the  cows,  which  last  he  knew  to  be  a  sure  sign  of  a  fair 
day,  he  again  kneeled  down  and  prayed,  with  a  heart  full 
of  happiness.  Indeed,  it  is  not  likely  that  John  D.  ever 
neglected  or  forgot  his  prayers,  or,  Avhich  is  quite  as  bad, 
said  them  in  a  careless  perfunctory  way,  on  a  fine  Saturday 
morning  or  other  holiday.  May  it  not  be  that  the  crowing 
of  the  cocks,  and  the  singing  of  the  birds,  and  the  trumpet 
ing  of  the  cows,  and  the  childish  prayers  of  the  boy  were 
all  alike  natural  effusions  of  gratitude  to  the  Giver  of  all 
good ;  a  part  of  that  endless  psean  which,  rising  in  the  path 
of  the  sun,  from  earth  to  heaven,  is  ever  hailing  and  bless 
ing  the  sacred  light?  "Make  a  joyful  noise  unto  the  Lord, 
all  ye  lands !"  says  the  Psalmist. 

His  prayers  over  and  everything  ready  to  his  hand,  away 
he  went  with  rapid  strides  to  the  place  of  rendezvous  near 
the  basin.  There  he  found  Hare  just  opening  his  shop,  and 
his  men  straggling  in  to  their  work.  Bradstreet  had  not 
come  to  the  rendezvous,  and  John  D.  was  very  restive  under 
the  delay.  At  last,  finding  that  he  was  likely  to  lose  the 
best  part  of  the  day  for  sport,  he  told  Hare  and  the  work 
men  to  tell  Bradstreet,  when  he  should  come,  to  hasten 


268  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

over,  and  that  he  would  find  him  at  the  eddy  near  the  foot 
of  the  big  chute  through  Goose  Island. 

On  his  way  in  the  boat  across  the  basin,  and  along  the 
half  mile  over  the  rocks  to  the  point  where  Corn  Island 
with  its  frowning  mass  of  trees  shut  off  his  view  of  the 
town,  he  looked  back  again  and  again,  in  hopes  of  seeing 
Bradstreet.  But  he  did  not  appear,  and  John  D.  saw  before 
him  the  long  task  of  wading  alone  across  the  wide  middle 
channel  to  Goose  Island.  As  he  trudged  along  in  the  early 
light  over  the  rocky  margin  of  this  wide,  shallow  channel 
there  flew  before  him  flocks  of  aquatic  birds.  The  gray- 
backed  winter  yellow-legs,  with  snowy  breast  and  belly, 
flitted  away,  piping  their  loud,  clear  whistle.  The  golden 
plovers  spun  along  before  him,  in  large  flocks,  and  rising 
on  his  approach,  and  circling  around  again  and  again, 
dropped  down  in  close  order  upon  the  rocks.  The  little, 
spotted  sandpiper  tripped  along  the  margin  of  the  river, 
busily  dipping  for  his  food  on  the  very  edge  of  the  wave, 
following  it  as  it  ebbed,  and  flitting  away  as  it  flowed. 
Surely  it  was  from  these  dainty-footed  waders,  or  their 
congeners,  the  smallest  of  their  kind,  that  Shakespeare  got 
a  hint  for  his  fairies  in  "The  Tempest";  those  delicate 
creatures 

"That  on  the  sands,  with  printless  foot, 
Do  chase  the  ebbing  Neptune,  and  do  fly  him 
When  he  comes  back." 

A  long  string  of  wild  geese  were  flying  low  over  the  island, 
honking  as  they  went.  The  great  blue  crane  was  startled 
from  his  post  on  some  jutting  rock,  or  standing  knee  deep 
in  the  water,  and  flapped  slowly  away  on  his  bowed  wings, 
his  legs  stretching  far  behind,  bearing  on  his  back  his  long, 
sharp,  deadly  beak.  Away  out  upon  one  of  the  backbones, 
as  are  named  the  dark  spiny  ledges  that  lift  their  backs 
above  the  water,  he  alights.  There,  resuming  his  stealthy 
posture,  he  stands  like  some  ga.unt  assassin,  with  burning 
eye  and  dagger  drawn,  expectant  of  his  victim. 

Far  away  toward  the  head  of  the  falls  the  fishhawks  are 
already  plying  their  trade,  balancing  themselves  in  the  air, 
and  scanning  the  water  for  their  prey.  On  the  topmost 


John  D.  on  the  Falls  269 

branch  of  a  tall  hickory  on  Corn  Island  sits  a  bald-eagle, 
watching  these  with  telescopic  eyes. 

John  D.  looked  with  longing  eyes  upon  the  yellow-legs 
and  golden  plovers,  and  lamented  the  absence  of  "old 
Bradstreet"  and  his  not  trusty  firelock.  But  he  now  began 
his  greatest  task,  to  wade  across  the  chute  to  Goose  Island ; 
and  dismissing  vain  regrets,  bent  himself  to  his  work.  He 
had  reached  the  middle  of  the  chute,  which  is  marked  by 
a  deep  fissure  in  the  rocks,  when  he  saw  mist  rising  like 
steam  from  the  surface  of  the  water.  He  quickened  his 
steps,  knowing  that  in  a  moment  he  might  be  shut  in  by 
a  fog,  through  which  it  would  be  impossible  to  find  his  way. 
In  another  moment,  just  as  he  had  made  a  stride  across 
the  fissure,  the  mist  was  a  yard  in  height,  and  the  next 
moment  he  found  himself  enveloped  by  a  fog  through  which 
he  could  not  see  a  yard.  There  was  no  danger  in  his  situa 
tion  ;  for  the  water  was  shallow,  and  in  all  the  wide  expanse 
between  him  and  the  island  there  was  no  pitfall  of  any  kind 
into  which  he  might  stumble.  He  was  soon  at  a  loss  about 
his  course,  and  stood  still.  Nothing  was  heard  but,  at  inter 
vals,  the  whirr  of  wildfowl  on  the  wing,  and  the  whistle 
of  plovers  invisible  in  the  mist;  soon  even  these  sounds 
ceased  and  all  was  silent,  save  the  low  whisper  of  the  cur 
rent  and  the  continuous  roar  of  the  falls. 

It  now  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  keep  his  true 
course  by  feeling  the  current  with  his  hand,  and  going 
across  it  at  a  right  angle.  This  he  tried,  but  found  it  im 
possible  long  to  preserve  his  course,  and  more  than  once,  on 
venturing  to  walk  a  considerable  distance  without  testing 
the  course  of  the  water,  he  found  himself  going  down  the 
stream.  Then  he  stood  still  again.  At  last  he  heard  behind 
him  the  cawing  of  crows,  which  he  knew  must  be  upon  the 
tops  of  trees  on  Corn  Island.  Soon  these  were  answered  by 
other  crows,  which  he  knew  must  be  upon  the  trees  on  the 
Indiana  shore,  and  with  this  additional  clew  to  his  course, 
he  pushed  on  with  confidence.  Then  he  stopped  once  more, 
thinking  he  must  be  off  his  course,  and  that  he  had  already 
waded  a  far  greater  distance  than  was  required  to  reach  the 
island.  "Would  the  fog  never  lift !"  Then,  impatient  at 
losing  so  much  time,  and  thinking  how  greedily  the  bass 


270  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

would  snap  at  his  bait  this  fine  morning,  he  pushed  on. 
But  soon  he  stopped  again,  hearing  nearby  the  roaring  of 
water.  Can  it  be  the  big  chute  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
island  ?  If  so  he  must  await  the  lifting  of  the  fog.  No,  it 
is  the  steady  roar  of  falling  water.  He  now  pressed  on 
with  confidence  and  soon  found  himself  on  the  island,  just 
below  the  waterfall — at  the  very  point  he  would  have  chosen 
if  the  morning  had  been  clear  of  mist. 

Feeling  his  way  among  the  willow  bushes  which  grew 
along  the  sandy  alluvial  that  fills  the  fissures  in  the  rocks, 
seeking  a  dry  place  where  he  might  build  a  fire,  and  gladden 
the  heart  of  "old  Bradstreet,"  when  he  should  come,  he 
came  suddenly  upon  a  fire,  before  which  a  large  man  was 
sitting.  It  was  no  unusual  thing  for  fishermen  to  pass  the 
night  on  the  island.  But  the  man  started  to  his  feet,  ex 
hibiting  to  John  D.  the  countenance  and  the  huge  propor 
tions  of  a  man  he  had  once  seen  and  could  never  forget.  It 
was  Stokes,  the  robber !  To  John  D.  this  was  a  frightful 
occurrence.  He  was  more  startled  than  ever  before.  But 
the  robber  was  more  startled  than  he.  He  was  pale  as  a 
ghost  and  trembled  violently.  John  D.  had  instinctively 
dropped  his  rod  and  net,  and  had  thrust  his  hand  into  his 
satchel,  grasping  his  sharp  hunting-knife.  But  the  big 
man  recovered  himself,  and  fetching  a  long  breath  said : 

"Why,  my  little  man,  how  on  earth  did  you  get  across 
here  through  the  fog?  Why,  I've  been  a-watching  of  you 
ever  since  you  left  the  foot  of  Corn  Island,  till  the  fog  riz 
on  you.  I  seen  that  you  knew  the  track,  but  I  didn't  think 
any  man,  much  less  a  boy  like  you,  could  find  his  way 
through  sich  a  fog  as  this.  I  suppose  you  felt  the  current 
and  aimed  to  go  square  across  it,  but  I've  tried  that  and 
found,  after  a  while,  that  I  couldn't  tell  by  the  feel  which 
way  the  water  was  runnin'." 

"Yes,"  said  John  D.,  recovering  himself  somewhat,  "I 
tried  that,  and  then  I  heard  the  crows  on  Corn  Island  and 
other  crows  on  the  trees  over  the  river,  by  the  big  eddy — " 

"Well,  yes,  that  was  better  than  the  current — "  And 
then,  with  an  eager  glance  at  John  D.'s  satchel,  he  said, 
"What  have  you  got  in  that  bag  ?  Is  it  victuals  ?  If  it  is, 


John  D.  on  the  Falls  271 

for  God's  sake  give  me  some !  S'help  me  God,  I  haven't 
had  a  bite  to  eat  since  yesterday  morning  I" 

"Yes,  I  have  got  meat  and  bread  here,  and  you  can  have 
as  much  as  you  want.  And  here's  a  frying-pan,  and  some 
middling.  You  can  cook  it  in  a  minute ;  and  here's  plenty 
of  corn  bread,  if  you  like  that."  Here  John  D.  handed  him 
the  bread  and  the  pan,  and  with  his  hunting-knife  cut  off 
many  long,  thin  slices  from  the  piece  of  middling,  and 
threw  them  into  the  pan,  which  was  now  on  the  fire.  They 
were  soon  fizzing  and  filling  the  air  with  a  most  savory 
odor.  It  was  a  sight,  the  eager  animal  gaze  of  the  giant 
upon  the  cooking  meat!  He  was  stuffing  his  mouth  with 
the  corn  bread,  sopping  it  often  in  the  juices  of  the  meat 
which  were  fast  filling  the  pan,  and  looking  up  at  John  D. 
with  an  expression  of  unmistakable  benevolence  and  grati 
tude.  "You've  been  a  savior  to  me,  my  little  man,"  said 
he,  stuffing  into  his  mouth  pieces  of  the  meat  red  hot  from 
the  pan.  "I  don't  know  what  would  'a'  become  o'  me,  if  I 
hadn't  a-met  you.  Oh,  you  can't  think  how  I've  suffered !" 

Thus  he  went  on  eating  and  mumbling  indistinctly,  and 
making  many  oh's  and  ah's  and  grunts  of  satisfaction,  until 
his  hunger  was  appeased. 

"Why  do  you  stay  over  here  starving,"  said  John  D.,  that 
cunning  young  man,  "when  you  might  go  over  to  town? 
Anybody  will  give  a  hungry  man  food ;  and  then  you  could 
get  work,  and  pay  for  what  you  want." 

"Well,  you  see,  my  little  man,  I  am  an  unfortunate  man. 
I've  had  misfortune  till  I'm  most  drove  crazy.  Would  you 
be  willin'  to  help  a  man  that's  unfortunate;  a  poor  un 
fortunate  man  that's  got  no  friend  and  that's  so  fixed  that 
he  can't  help  himself?" 

"Yes,"  said  John  D.,  a  little  touched  by  the  big  fellow's 
pitiful  looks  and  his  poor  effort  at  eloquence;  "what  can  I 
do  for  you?  I  haven't  got  but  a  quarter — two  cut  nine- 
pences — you  can  have  them !"  And  he  took  them  from  his 
pocket  and  handed  them  toward  the  man  on  the  palm  of  his 
hand. 

"Oh,  no !  I  don't  want  that.  I  wouldn't  take  your  little 
pocket  money  anyhow,  but  it  wouldn't  do  me  any  good.  If 
I  could  only  git  word  to  a  man  in  town — would  you  take 


272  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

a  word  from  me  to  a  man  in  town?  Do  yon  know  a  man 
there  of  the  name  of  Ould — Bob  Ould,  the  lawyer  ?  A'most 
everybody  knows  him/' 

"Yes,  I  know  him  very  well,  and  I'll  take  a  message  to 
him.  What  do  you  want  me  to  tell  him  ?" 

"I  want  you  to  tell  him  that  I'm  over  here,  and  that  I 
want  to  git  away,  and  that  I  can  do  something  for  him,  and 
I  want  money  enough  to  take  me  away  from  this  country 
where  I've  been  so  unfortunate,  and  that  I  can  do  him  a 
turn  worth  the  money." 

"What  shall  I  tell  him  you  can  do  for  him,  and  who 
shall  I  tell  him  you  are  ?  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"Well,  now,  my  little  man,  you  can  judge  how  unfor 
tunate  a  man  must  be  when  he  can't  tell  his  name!  But 
he'll  know  me  when  you  tell  him  I'm  the  biggest  man  you 
ever  saw  out  of  a  show ;  and  when  you  tell  him  that  I  will 
give  him  something  that  he  sets  great  store  by,  a  tin  box 
that's  been  lost  and  found,  he'll  be  sure  to  know." 

"Well,  I'll  go  right  off  and  see  him." 

"Wait  a  bit,  wait  a  bit;  you  can't  go  back  through  this 
fog.  And  I  want  you  to  promise  me  not  to  tell  anybody 
else  about  seein'  me  over  here." 

John  D.  promised,  and  further  assured  him  that  he 
would  be  guided  by  Mr.  Ould,  who  was  a  great  friend  of 
his  father.  "But  I  think,"  said  John  D.,  disposed  to 
amuse  himself  with  the  man,  of  whom  he  felt  no  longer 
any  apprehension,  "I  think  you  might  tell  me  your  name." 
And  he  looked  and  smiled  in  quite  a  sly  way,  that  cunning 
John  D. 

"You  can  read,  I  suppose,  in  course." 

"Yes,  I  can  read." 

"You  can  read  writin'  pretty  good,  can't  you  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  can  read  writing  pretty  well." 

"Well,  look  a-here,"  and,  choosing  a  smooth  spot  on  the 
sand,  he  wrote  in  large,  well-formed  characters  JAMES 
STOKES,  and  then,  passing  his  hand  over  the  sand  and  ob 
literating  the  letters,  he  looked  into  John  D.'s  eyes  with  a 
grin  of  delight. 

"You  write  a  pretty  good  hand,  Mr.  Stokes,"  said 
John  D. 


John  D.  on  the  Falls  273 

"'Mister  Stokes'!  You  are  the  first  human  bein'  that 
ever  called  me  Mister  Stokes.  Well,  the  fog's  liftin'.  It'll 
be  clear  in  a  minute  now.  It  goes  off  as  sudden  as  it  comes 
on.  Come  with  me  till  I  show  you  where  you'll  find  me 
when  you  come  back."  Then  he  led  the  way  across  the 
island,  a  short  distance,  to  a  small  chute,  down  the  dry 
channel  of  which  they  walked  until  they  came  to  a  thick 
clump  of  willows,  where  Stokes  had  made  his  hiding  place. 
Here  he  had  remained  concealed  during  the  day,  coming 
out  only  at  night  or  early  in  the  morning,  when  he  posted 
himself  at  the  point  where  John  D.  had  found  him.  This 
was  a  promontory  from  which  he  could  view  the  whole 
southern  side  of  the  island,  and  the  north  side  of  Corn 
Island,  and  the  Kentucky  shore,  and  see  any  one  that  might 
approach  from  that  quarter.  Moreover,  this  spot  could  be 
reached  from  his  place  of  hiding  under  cover  of  the  willows, 
which  grew  all  along  the  way.  In  his  hiding  place  he  had 
made  a  bed  of  long  grass.  This  and  a  bag  stuffed  with  this 
grass,  and  a  log  to  sit  upon,  constituted  all  his  household 
furniture. 

"How  long  have  you  been  here  ?"  said  John  D. 

"Le'me  see — this  is  Saturday,  ain't  it?  Well,  I  come 
over  here  Wednesday  before  day.  I  had  a  little  provision 
in  a  sack,  but  it  give  out,  and  when  I  seen  you  this  mornin' 
I  had  fasted  a  whole  night  and  a  day.  I  was  pretty  des 
perate  when  you  found  me." 

"Why  didn't  you  go  down  to  the  fishermen  on  Rock 
Island?  They  draw  the  seine  there  every  day,  and  you 
might  have  got  provisions  by  helping  them." 

"Lord  bless  you !  that's  the  last  place  I'd  think  of  goin'. 
I  worked  with  them  fellows  once,  for  old  man  Phipps — old 
Jerry.  You've  heard  tell  of  him,  I  know.  Well,  they  put 
all  the  hard  work  on  me.  If  there  was  a  hang  on  the  rock, 
and  somebody  had  to  go  overboard  to  loosen  it,  Stokes  was 
always  the  man.  If  we  were  hauling  the  short  seines  in 
the  pockets,  Stokes  always  had  the  outside  brail.  If  there 
was  any  swimmin'  to  be  done,  Stokes  had  to  do  it.  Every 
bit  of  hardship  of  every  kind  was  sure  to  be  put  on  me.  It 
was  well  I  was  able  to  stand  it.  I  wanted  fifty  dollars  to 
carry  me  home  to  Harrisburg,  in  Pennsylvania,  and  I  made 


274  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

up  my  mind  to  save  my  money  till  I  got  that  much.  I 
wouldn't  drink  a  drop  of  sperrits,  except  once  in  a  while, 
when  I  was  in  the  water,  and  the  old  man  always  furnished 
that:  and  I  wouldn't  stand  treat,  nor  spend  a  cent  in  the 
grocery  there  in  Shippingport,  nor  gamble  with  'em,  and 
they  knew  I  had  all  the  money  I  had  drawed,  exceptin'  a 
little  I  had  spent  for  cheese  and  crackers,  and  maybe  a 
glass  of  porter  now  and  then,  at  McKinzie's  tavern,  and 
then  wanted  to  git  it  out  of  me  by  hook  or  crook.  So  one 
Saturday  night  they  come  down,  leastways  six  or  seven  of 
'em  did,  to  McKinzie's,  where  I  was  havin'  a  glass  of  porter 
and  a  bit  of  cheese  and  crackers,  and  talkin'  there  with 
Enoch  and  the  old  man;  and  they  accuses  me  of  stealin' 
eighteen  dollars  that  they  said  one  of  'em  had  lost,  and 
wanted  to  search  me;  for  I  knew  they  wanted  to  play  a 
trick,  and  make  believe  they  had  found  the  money  on  me. 
And  so  they  set  on  me  and  tried  to  do  it  by  force.  But  I 
was  too  much  for  'em,  and  knocked  'em  about  pretty  lively, 
and  got  clear,  and  went  off  up  to  town.  They'd  make  short 
work  of  me  now,  if  they  could  git  hold  on  me.  It's  more 
on  account  of  them  than  anybody  else  that  I'm  bound  to 
keep  out  of  sight  here.  I'd  give  the  world  to  be  a  trim- 
built  little  man  like  you !  I  love  a  trim-made  little  man. 
You  see  I'm  so  big  there  ain't  one  of  these  fellows  that 
wouldn't  know  me  a  mile  away,  if  I  showed  in  daylight. 
And  they'd  be  after  me  keener  than  ever  since  I've  got 
into  misfortune.  I've  got  so  used  to  hidin'  that  I  can't 
stand  anywhere  in  the  open  ground  without  feelin'  as  if 
somebody  was  lookin'  at  me,  and  even  when  I'm  in  the 
very  thick  of  the  bushes,  if  the  sky  is  open  above  me,  the 
light  seems  to  shine  clean  through  me;  and  sometimes  I 
look  up  to  see  if  some  one  ain't  lookin'  for  me  out  of  the 
sky.  I  suppose  it's  because  I'm  so  big,  and  sich  an  unfor 
tunate  man.  It's  mighty  hard  to  walk  straight  in  this 
world!  I  think  sometimes  it's  the  nature  of  a  man  to 
wabble,  even  on  level  ground  and  in  broad  daylight.  Did 
you  ever  see  a  straight  path  across  a  meadow  or  a  pasture  ? 
I  never  did.  They  all  wabble,  wirin'  in  and  wirin'  out,  first 
one  way  and  then  the  other;  and  if  it  leads  along  a  fence 
that  keeps  you  straight  a  while,  that's  sure  to  be  harder 


John  D.  on  the  Falls  275 

walkin'  than  in  the  crooked  path.  It's  a  cur'ous  thing,  a 
curious  thing !" 

John  D.,  impatient  to  go,  now  rose,  saying,  "I  must 
be  off." 

"But  surely  you'll  come  back  ?" 

"Yes,  I  will  come  back  as  quickly  as  I  can  after  seeing 
Mr.  Ould,  and  will  bring  you  word  what  he  says.  I'll  leave 
everything  here,  so  if  you  get  hungry  you  can  have  another 
fry.  And  here's  some  coffee  and  an  onion";  and  then  he 
gave  him  what  had  been  reserved  for  Bradstreet.  Then  he 
set  out  to  retrace  his  steps  across  the  water. 

Above  the  track  which  John  D.  had  followed,  the  rocky 
bottom  of  this  chute  was  filled  with  round  holes  made  by 
the  parting  from  the  matrix  of  large,  round  fossils  like 
cannon-balls.  These  holes  were  known  as  pots  and  kettles, 
over  which  the  passage  was  difficult  and  painful.  Filled 
with  the  strange  adventure  of  the  morning  he  missed  the 
well-known  track,  going  too  high  up  the  chute  among  the 
pots  and  kettles,  and  was  obliged  to  change  his  course  more 
than  once  before  he  got  into  the  right  track,  which  lies 
lower,  along  an  even,  smooth,  flat  surface.  He  did  not 
give  much  thought  to  the  throngs  of  wildfowl  which  the 
sun  now  revealed  in  every  direction  along  the  water.  The 
pigeons,  too,  were  pouring  across  the  river,  and  alighting 
on  Corn  Island,  swarming  upon  such  trees  as  were  covered 
with  the  vines  of  the  wild-grape.  He  had  no  time  for  these 
now,  but  he  could  not  altogether  suppress  a  longing  for 
Bradstreet  and  his  old  fusil. 

As  he  passed  along  the  wooded  island,  he  was  startled  by 
a  loud,  sustained,  shrill  whistle  overhead,  and  looking  up 
he  saw  the  bald-eagle  in  the  air.  He  had  left  his  perch  on 
the  hickory  tree,  and  was  flying  with  the  swiftness  of  an 
arrow  toward  the  head  of  the  falls.  There  a  fishhawk  was 
rising  from  the  water,  with  a  large  fish  in  his  claws,  its 
scaly  sides  gleaming  in  the  sunlight.  Seeing  the  eagle 
coming  it  rose  straight  into  the  air  to  avoid  the  pounce  of 
its  enemy.  The  eagle  directs  his  flight  upward  also,  and 
there  is  a  question  only  as  to  which  shall  attain  the  highest 
position.  So  long  as  the  hawk  can  keep  uppermost  he  is 
safe.  He  makes  a  good  race,  though  handicapped  with  the 


276  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

weight  of  the  fish,  and  still  maintains  the  advantage.  Now 
they  have  stopped  flapping  their  wings  and  are  sailing 
around  in  circles,  rising  higher  and  higher,  and  coming 
gradually  over  the  point  where  John  D.  stands.  They  have 
now  reached  such  a  height  that  it  is  difficult  to  tell  which 
is  uppermost.  Except  by  the  gleaming  sides  of  the  fish,  as 
they  are  turned  to  the  sun,  the  two  birds  are  not  distin 
guishable.  Suddenly  they  begin  to  descend.  The  eagle 
has  got  above,  and  is  closing  his  wings,  and  stopping  at 
short  intervals,  menacing  the  hawk,  who  is  dropping  toward 
the  earth  as  fast  as  he  can  come,  his  wings  held  high  and 
forming  a  parachute,  shaking  his  legs  again  and  again, 
endeavoring  to  loosen  the  fish  from  his  great  hooked  claws, 
emitting  all  the  while  a  piteous  squeal.  Just  over  John  D. 
the  fish  falls  from  his  clutches.  Instantly  the  wings  of 
the  eagle  are  closed, 

"And  like  a  thunderbolt  he  falls." 

Clutching  it  in  his  great  talons  and  drawing  it  up  to 
his  breast,  he  flies  heavily  away  across  the  river,  while  the 
fishhawk  perches  on  the  tall  hickory,  and  preens  his 
feathers. 

And  now  John  D.  hastens  away  across  the  rocks  to  the 
basin,  and  over  the  basin  to  the  town.  As  he  passes  Hare's 
shop  he  is  told  that  Bradstreet  has  been  there  to  say  that 
he  had  sprained  his  ankle  slightly  that  evening  he  parted 
with  him,  and,  though  able  to  hobble  down  there,  was  not  in 
condition  to  undertake  the  jaunt  to  the  island. 

John  D.  soliloquized  as  he  pushed  on  uptown :  "What 
will  old  B.  say,  when  I  tell  him  about  the  robber?  I'm 
going  to  make  it  out  worse  than  anything  in  'The  Three 
Spaniards.' " 


CHAPTEK  XXVIII 

THE   GAMBLING-KOOM 

"Pleased,  the  fresh  packs  on  cloth  of  green  they  see, 
And  seizing  handle  with  preluding  glee; 
They  draw,  they  sit,  they  shuffle,  cut  and  deal; 
Like  friends  assembled,  but  like  foes  to  feel." 

THE  FALLS  was  by  no  means  without  vice.  There  was 
always  a  gambling-room,  the  proprietors  of  which  were  well 
known  to  the  authorities  and  to  the  community.  Their 
business  was  an  offense  against  the  law,  punishable  by  a 
heavy  fine  and  by  the  forfeiture  of  their  gambling  imple 
ments;  but  the  law  was  hardly  ever  enforced.  They  were 
often  indicted  but  seldom  arraigned,  the  prosecuting  at 
torney  usually  dismissing  the  case,  upon  payment  of  that 
portion  of  the  fine  which  was  the  perquisite  of  his  office. 
Or,  if  the  penalty  was  inflicted,  "influence"  was  pretty 
sure  to  be  used  with  the  governor,  and  the  fine  remitted. 
It  is  humiliating  to  say  that  this  was  very  easily  effected 
whenever  the  election  of  a  United  States  Senator  was  at 
hand.  The  governor  was  generally  a  candidate,  and  if  the 
representatives  from  the  offender's  district  endorsed  the 
application,  the  fine  was  sure  to  be  remitted.  So  the  play 
went  on  almost  as  if  there  were  no  law  forbidding  it. 
Except  during  the  races,  few  outside  gamesters  came  into 
the  field,  and  the  business  was  left  for  the  most  part  in 
the  hands  of  local  practitioners.  The  game  was  popularly 
known  as  "The  Tiger."  Quid,  who  was  himself  addicted 
to  gambling,  not  habitually,  but  at  intervals,  as  he  was 
addicted  to  drinking — these  vices  going  together,  as  if  by 
some  indissoluble  connection — used  to  call  these  local  games 
the  "domesticated  tigers,"  in  contradistinction  to  those  that 
came  at  the  time  of  the  races,  when  they  swarmed  Jnto  thQ 
little  town  from  many  a  far-off  jungle, 

277 


278  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

On  the  day  of  John  D.'s  adventure  on  the  falls,  Ould  had 
received  the  contingent  fee  in  the  case  of  Tyte  vs.  Backstep. 
He  had  no  sooner  got  the  money  in  his  hand  than  he  set  out 
for  Digby's  warehouse,,  where  he  deposited  fifteen  hundred 
dollars,  old  Mr.  Anderson,  the  cashier,  putting  it  to  his 
credit  on  the  books.  Later  in  the  day,  with  the  other  five 
hundred  in  his  pocket,  he  walked  up  town,  in  a  very  in 
determinate  state  of  mind.  The  case  in  which  he  had 
earned  this  fee  had  occupied  him  for  a  long  time,  and  had 
kept  him  sober;  for  he  was  never  known  to  take  to  drink 
while  he  had  any  important  business  on  his  hands.  He 
could  throw  off,  when  he  pleased,  the  burden  of  his  private 
affairs,  but  the  responsibility  for  the  interests  of  other 
people,  confided  to  his  charge,  could  never  be  shaken  off. 
Thornton's  case,  both  law  and  facts,  was  at  his  finger-ends, 
and  the  day  of  trial  was  yet  a  month  off. 

Freedom  from  professional  care  was  a  dangerous  condi 
tion  for  him,  as  it  proved  to  be  on  this  occasion.  He  had 
taken  an  early  breakfast,  and  thought  it  would  be  an  agree 
able  thing  to  go  to  "Holiday's"  and  get  a  luncheon.  On 
the  way  the  idea  of  something  to  drink  suggested  itself.  He 
repelled  this  suggestion,  but  it  returned  in  a  mild  form, 
and  found  acceptance.  He  would  have  a  glass  of  old 
Madeira,  "to  help  digestion."  By  the  time  he  had  entered 
Holiday's  door,  and  glanced  at  the  shining  array  of  glasses 
behind  the  bar,  he  had  enlarged  this  idea,  and,  going  into 
a  private  room,  he  ordered  an  ample  repast  and  a  half  pint 
of  brandy.  The  meal  being  served,  he  ate  leisurely,  not 
touching  the  brandy,  but  looking  at  it  with  a  glance  which 
expressed  satisfaction  that  it  was  there.  We  all  know  how 
much  more  pleasure  there  is  in  hope  than  in  possession,  and 
how  sweet  are  those  moments  in  which  we  see  within  our 
grasp  the  object  of  desire ;  passing  sweet,  but,  like  all  things 
so  ethereal,  short-lived,  their  delicate  aroma  vanishing  in 
fruition.  7$o  man  knew  this  better  than  Ould,  and  he 
dallied  with  the  bottle,  and  prolonged,  with  seeming  self- 
denial,  this  pleasure  to  its  utmost  limits.  The  repast  over, 
he  nibbled  a  piece  of  cheese,  and  filled  a  tumbler  half  full 
of  brandy,  and  drank  it  off.  Then  he  called  for  a  cigar, 
and  smoking  this  slowly,  as  he  sipped  the  remainder,  he 


The  Gambling-room  279 

sat  long  in  solitary  rumination.  Then  suddenly  he  sent 
for  the  bill  and  paid  it,  and  buttoning  his  coat  high  over 
his  chest,  grasped  his  cane  with  a  vigorous  movement,  and 
went  out.  There  was  a  slight  flush  on  his  dark  face,  and 
his  eyes  glowed  with  increased  brightness;  but  there  was 
no  sign  of  intoxication  upon  him,  and  he  walked  with 
unusual  vigor  and  elasticity.  Yet  the  demon  was  in  pos 
session  of  him,  and  led  him  straight  to  the  room  of  the 
gamblers. 

He  found  there  John  Lewis  and  his  two  partners,  Able 
and  Woods,  whom  we  may  now,  in  as  brief  terms  as  possi 
ble,  describe.  Lewis  was  easily  the  leader  of  the  fraternity. 
He  was  a  man  of  thirty,  with  black  hair  and  blue  eyes,  a 
good  figure  inclining  to  stoutness,  with  a  gentlemanly  bear 
ing,  having  copied  quite  closely  the  stately  air  and  prompt 
politeness  of  the  fine  gentlemen  of  the  day.  He  was  dressed 
in  dark  clothes  fashionably  cut,  with  no  jewelry  except 
a  single  diamond  of  large  size,  on  his  ruffled  shirt-bosom. 
He  was  not  only  the  fine  gentleman  of  the  establishment, 
but  he  was,  in  the  opinion  of  his  partners,  also  a  great 
literary  man,  and  a  connoisseur  in  art. 

Able  was  a  little,  fair  man,  with  light  ashen-tinted  hair, 
a  broad  white  forehead,  open  gray  eyes,  with  a  decidedly 
sagacious  but  honest  expression,  and  had  the  reputation 
of  being  a  strictly  "square  man."  This  and  a  quiet,  ami 
able  temper  made  him  a  favorite  with  all  the  patrons  of  the 
house. 

The  third  partner,  Woods,  was  a  coarse,  stout,  black- 
eyed,  black-haired  man,  with  large  hands  and  a  general 
clumsiness  of  figure;  very  plain  in  attire,  and  very  shy; 
hardly  ever  venturing  to  take  any  part  in  the  talk  of  the 
room,  but  smiling  blandly  upon  everybody.  He  was  a 
blacksmith  before  he  embarked  in  gaming,  an  old  friend  of 
Lewis  and  Able,  who,  when  they  had  lost  all  their  money 
on  the  races  one  fall,  induced  him  to  quit  his  forge  and 
put  his  capital  into  this  gambling-room.  He  was  there  to 
look  after  his  interests,  and  seemed  "a  fish  out  of  water." 
All  three  of  these  men  had  that  peculiar  bleached  look 
which  marks  the  professional  gambler,  the  result;  of  living 
almost  all  their  day?  out  of  the  sun, 


280  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

When  Ould  entered  the  room  they  knew  at  once  that  he 
was  at  the  beginning  of  a  debauch ;  for  he  had  never  visited 
them  except  when  under  the  influence  of  drink.  He  was 
now  in  high  spirits,  and,  after  ordering  the  servant  in  at 
tendance  to  bring  him  a  glass  of  brandy,  challenged  Lewis 
to  a  game  of  dummy  whist.  But  Lewis  declined,  shaking 
his  head,  and  protesting  that  he  was  no  match  for  Mr. 
Ould.  After  some  chaffing,  Ould  offered  odds  of  a  point  in 
the  game,  which  Lewis  accepted,  and  they  sat  down  to  play. 
Ould  beat  him  three  games,  when  Lewis  rose  from  the  table, 
quitting  the  game,  and  protesting  that  he  would  never 
again  be  foolish  enough  to  match  himself  against  Mr.  Ould. 
Ould  laughed,  and  insisted  that  it  was  all  luck,  but  Lewis 
paid  Ould  seventy-five  dollars,  and  declared  himself  cured 
of  "sucking  eggs." 

"Nonsense,  nonsense,"  said  Ould,  "come  on,  now,  one 
rub  more." 

But  Lewis  put  his  purse  into  his  pocket,  and  buttoned  up 
his  coat,  and  shook  his  head,  and  said,  "No,  Mr.  Ould,  no 
more  double-dummy  for  me." 

"Mr.  Ould,"  said  little  Able,  "I'll  tell  you  of  a  man  who 
would  like  to  play  you — Mr.  Twist.  He's  up  here  every 
day,  and  I  heard  him  say,  that  if  he  should  ever  meet  you 
here,  he  would  be  willing  to  play  you  at  dummy  whist,  for 
any  reasonable  stake." 

"Well,"  said  Ould,  "I  wish  he  would  come  up  now — 
Jerry,  give  me  some  brandy  and  water." 

This  was  the  second  time  that  this  order  had  been  given 
by  Ould  since  he  had  entered  the  room.  Lewis  now  walked 
quickly  up  to  him  and  said  in  a  low  tone  that  he  desired 
to  speak  privately  with  him  for  a  moment,  inviting  him 
to  walk  into  his  chamber. 

"What  the  deuce,"  exclaimed  Ould,  "can  you  have  to  say 
to  me  that  requires  privacy  ?  Speak  it  out  here." 

"I  would  speak  it  out  here,"  said  Lewis,  "but  I  am  afraid 
somebody  may  come  in,  and  it  is  a  thing  I  should  not  like 
everybody  to  hear.  Please  walk  into  my  room  a  moment." 

"If  you  want  to  talk  to  me  about  law,  you  can't  do  it 
now;  I  never  mix  law  and  brandy  together.  You'll  have 
to  wait,  ancj  co.me  to,  my 


The  Gambling-room  281 

"But  it  isn't  about  law;  it  is  a  matter  of  some  interest 
to  me — please  come  for  a  moment." 

"Hang  you !"  said  Ould,  "can't  a  man  have  a  game  of 
cards,  or  take  his  ease  in  his  inn,  without  the  everlasting 
bother  of  business  ?  Come  aside  and  tell  me  in  three  words 
what  it  is  about." 

They  walked  to  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  where, 
after  a  few  words  from  Lewis,  Ould  broke  away  from  him, 
crying  out  with  violence,  "Nonsense,  nonsense;  don't  pre 
sume  to  talk  to  me  in  that  way.  If  you  are  tender  about 
your  fine  brandy,  I'll  send  down  to  Holiday's  and  get  it." 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Ould — you  know  me  too  well  to  think  that 
— or  that  I  would  take  any  liberty  with  you."  And  then 
Lewis  made  further  protestations,  by  which  Ould  was 
mollified,  and  he  said,  "Come  along,  then,  and  let  me  hear 
what  you  have  to  say";  and  then  he  walked  with  Lewis 
to  his  room. 

As  they  entered  there,  Ould  was  surprised  to  see  such 
elegant  quarters,  the  room  being  sumptuously  furnished 
and  the  walls  adorned  with  pictures.  But  he  was  more 
surprised  to  see  a  table  covered  with  handsomely  bound 
books,  among  which  were  many  of  the  English  classics,  and 
two  copies  of  Shakespeare.  "Hello !"  he  cried,  struck  at 
once  by  this,  "are  you  such  an  admirer  of  Shakespeare  that 
you  keep  two  copies  on  your  table  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Lewis;  "I  can't  say  that  I  like  the  book 
much,  but  I  keep  it  here  to  settle  bets.  You  can't  think 
how  many  bets  are  made  on  that  book !  Hardly  a  day 
passes  that  there  isn't  a  bet  made  on  some  passage  in  it. 
And  so  we  are  obliged  to  keep  it  here.  It  is  just  as  neces 
sary  as  Hoyle.  I  have  caught  a  good  many  points  on  it, 
and  have  won  a  pile  of  money  on  them.  It  was  only  the 
other  night  that  I  won  fifty  from  young  '  Cam  pus  Martius' 
of  Lexington  on  that  passage  from  Hamlet — 'I  am  native 
and  to  the  manner  born.' '; 

"I  understand,"  said  Ould.    "He  thought  it  manor." 

"Exactly.  That's  a  real  good  point,  because  it  is  often 
put  wrong  in  books  and  newspapers,  and  most  men,  when 
they  see  a  thing  in  print,  think  it  must  be  right," 

"You  have  got  over  that,  have  you?" 


282  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then,  John  Lewis,  you  have  made  a  good  stride  toward 
making  something  of  yourself.  What  other  Shakesperean 
points  have  you?" 

"Well,  there's  that  other  line  from  Hamlet — 'The  glow 
worm  'gins  to  pale  his  uneffectual  fire/  '' 

"Ah,  yes.  They  bet  on  ineffectual.  (How  absolute  the 
knave  is!)" 

"Yes,  sir;  and  there's  that  passage  from  'Measure  for 
Measure':  'I  am  a  looker  on  here  in  Vienna/  They  bet 
on  Venice  every  time." 

"Well,  you  have  plenty  more,  I  suppose?" 

"Oh,  yes ;  many  more.  I  have  them  all  down  in  a  book ; 
and,  in  general,  if  a  man  quotes  from  Shakespeare  as  much 
as  two  lines,  I  bet  him  he's  wrong,  and  win  nearly  every 
time.  There's  been  a  lull  in  the  betting  on  Shakespeare, 
lately,  because  most  of  the  regular  customers  of  the  house 
have  got  to  be  posted  on  the  points.  But  when  the  country 
gentry  come  in,  and  go  to  Drake's  theater  a  few  nights,  we 
are  sure  to  get  them.  We  used  to  get  shoals  of  them  on 
'Richard  the  Third/" 

"  'Off  with  his  head :  so  much  for  Buckingham,'  hey !" 

"Yes,  sir;  they  fall  on  that,  and  on  many  more  things 
they  show  on  the  stage,  that  ain't  in  that  play  at  all." 

"Well,  well !  You  make  good  use  of  your  belle-lettre 
scholarship,  I  must  say !  I  remember  you  were  once  on  law 
points.  Don't  you  remember  consulting  me  about  the 
penalty  for  stealing  from  the  person?" 

"Yes,  sir ;  of  course  I  do.  I  paid  you  twenty-five  dollars 
for  that  opinion;  but  I  made  a  big  thing  of  it.  Why,  I 
won  fifty  from  Mr.  Twist  on  that;  and  I  got  more  than 
a  dozen  young  lawyers  for  smaller  amounts,  and  some  old 
lawyers,  too.  The  whole  town  was  buzzing  with  that  for 
two  weeks,  and  the  commonwealth  attorney's  office  was 
thronged  every  day  with  men  that  had  made  bets  on  it.  I 
got  that  point  from  Jim  Woods.  He  picked  it  up  some 
where,  but  he  was  so  ignorant  that  I  was  afraid  to  bet  on 
it  without  your  opinion." 

"You  were  afraid  it  might  be  crowner's  quest  law?" 

f'Yes,  sir,    Woods  tried  to  explain  it  to  me,  but  talked. 


The  Gambling-room  283 

the  greatest  nonsense !  He  said  that  if  a  man  stole  the  value 
of  four  dollars  and  a  half,  it  was  'high  treasing' ;  but  if  he 
stole  only  twenty-five  cents  in  value,  from  the  person  of 
another,  it  was  a  felony,  for  which  he  might  be  sent  to  the 
penitentiary.  This  was  the  point  to  bet  on.  He  was  going 
about  with  a  pocketful  of  money,  betting  on  it.  After 
I  got  your  opinion  I  backed  it  freely.  I  won  a  great  deal 
from  men  that  had  consulted  their  lawyers — " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Ould,  "consulted  their  lawyers,  and 
got  street  opinions,  for  which  they  did  not  pay.  Served 
them  right." 

"Yes,  sir!  I  suppose  so.  Why,  sir,  some  of  them,  too 
virtuous  to  set  foot  in  my  room  before,  thinking  they  had 
a  sure  thing,  came  here  to  hunt  me  up  and  bet  me.  I  took 
them  in  as  fast  as  they  came." 

Ould  laughed  heartily  at  this  exposition  of  the  resources 
of  a  betting  man,  and  then  asked  if  he  had  any  other  de 
partments  of  knowledge  upon  which  he  had  betting  points. 

"Why,  yes,  sir;  there's  the  Bible." 

"What!  You  reprobate!  Don't  tell  me  you  bet  upon 
the  Bible!  What  have  you  there?" 

"Well,  there's  that  point  about  Satan  having  been  driven 
out  of  heaven  and  cast  into  hell ;  and  a  lot  of  other  things 
that  people  have  got  out  of  'Paradise  Lost.'  'He  who  tem 
pers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb' — that  ain't  in  the  Bible." 

"No,  it's  in  Sterne  and  a  dozen  other  places,  and  in  as 
many  different  languages.  People  have  been  stealing  that 
ever  since  books  were  first  written.  Have  you  made  much 
out  of  these?" 

"No,  sir;  not  much;  the  Bible  is  going  out  of  fashion. 
A  Bible  man  turns  up  only  now  and  then.  And  then  there 
is  always  trouble  and  delay  about  deciding  bets  on  the 
Bible,  because  men  are  generally  unwilling  to  give  up-  on 
outside  authority,  and  it  takes  an  awful  time  to  go  through 
the  book,  looking  for  the  passage.  I  know  I  have  made 
several  sinners  go  through  it  from  Genesis  to  Eevelation, 
looking  for  these  passages ;  and  I  have  ransacked  it  pretty 
freely  myself,  but  I  am  afraid  it  has  never  done  me  any 
good." 

"No,  you  scamp  J    You  were  looking  through  it  as  many 


284  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

others  look  through  it,  hoping  to  find  something  for  your 
temporal  advantage." 

"Well,  Mr.  Ould,  I  have  respect  for  the  Bible,  but  'busi 
ness  is  business/  And  now  let  me  tell  you  what  I  have 
to  say  to  you.  Mr.  Twist  thinks  he  plays  a  strong  game 
of  whist,  and  I  know  he  is  anxious  to  play  a  match  with 
you,  not  onty  with  a  view  of  winning  money  from  you, 
but  because  he  knows  that  we  will  back  you,  and  he  thinks 
he  may  catch  you  off  your  foot,  and  make  a  good  thing 
out  of  us  all.  That's  the  reason  I  asked  you  to  pull  up  a 
little  on  the  brandy.  I  would  not  presume,  of  course,  to 
dictate  to  you,  nor  to  advise  you,  but  I  thought  it  right 
to  let  you  know  how  the  land  lay." 

"Very  well,  let  him  come  on.  If  he  thinks  I  will  play 
worse  for  the  brandy,  he  makes  a  mistake.  Double  dummy 
is  too  simple  a  game  for  that.  If  it  were  whist  with  part 
ners,  he  might  count  on  it ;  because  there  a  great  deal  de 
pends  upon  observation — observation  of  those  engaged  in 
the  game,  their  countenances,  mode  of  assorting  their  cards, 
and  many  little  things  which  indicate  the  character  of 
their  hands — your  partner's  as  well;  things  which  it  is 
perfectly  legitimate  to  observe,  and  are  very  important 
matters  in  that  game,  but  which  have  no  place  in  dummy. 
If  I  could  not  play  a  hundred  games  of  dummy  whist  with 
out  a  blunder,  I  would  quit  whist  altogether.  I'll  play 
with  him,  and,  with  equal  cards,  I  will  beat  him,  as  long 
as  I  can  see  my  hand  and  hold  it  in  my  fingers.  Come, 
let's  go  in ;  you  took  me  away  from  my  drink."  Then  they 
returned  to  the  gambling-room. 

There,  just  as  Ould  had  finished  the  brandy,  Mr.  Twist 
entered.  He  shook  hands  with  Ould,  and  as  he  felt  the 
hot  hand  in  his  thin,  cool  fingers,  a  light  beamed  in  his 
countenance,  and  rubbing  his  hands  together  with  much 
jollity,  he  took  a  seat  at  the  table  on  which  Ould  and  Lewis 
had  been  playing,  and  shuffling  the  cards,  challenged  Lewis 
to  a  game  of  all-fours.  Lewis  declined,  and  so  did  the 
other  partners,  whom  he  challenged  in  turn.  Then  he  pro 
posed  to  play  with  Ould,  who  declined,  professing  not  to 
be  well  versed  in  all-fours.  Twist  had  a  way  of  going 
indirectly  toward  his  object,  even  when  a  straight  road 


The  Gambling-room  285 

lay  before  him.  As  Mr.  Jack  Taylor  said  of  him,  he  liked 
"a  circuitous  route."  At  last  he  proposed  to  play  with 
Mr.  Quid  a  game  of  dummy  whist,  and  they  sat  down  to 
the  game. 

"Well,  Mr.  Quid,"  said  Twist,  "what  shall  the  stakes 
be?" 

"Twenty-five  dollars  is  my  limit,"  said  Quid.  "I'll  bet 
that  or  any  part  of  it  on  each  game." 

"I'll  bet  you  ten  dollars  a  game;  I  think  that  is  about 
as  much  as  I  can  bet  against  you." 

While  Ould  was  dealing  the  cards,  Twist  said,  address 
ing  Able:  "Didn't  you  win  twenty-five  dollars  from  me 
the  other  day  ?" 

"I  believe  I  did,"  replied  Able. 

ffWell,  I  should  like  to  get  it  back,  and,  if  you  say  so,  I 
will  bet  you  that  amount  on  the  first  game."  To  this  Able 
assented. 

Before  the  cards  had  been  exposed,  Twist  proposed  to  bet 
Lewis  also  twenty-five  dollars  on  each  game  until  one  should 
cry  off ;  which  was  accepted,  and  the  game  was  begun. 

Ould  had  drunk  many  glasses  of  brandy  and  water ;  but 
his  was  a  strong  head,  and  he  exhibited  little  sign  of  in 
toxication.  He  was  in  that  condition  in  which  the  stimu 
lant  shows  its  power  in  heightening  and  intensifying  the 
action  of  the  brain.  He  played  with  perfect  correctness 
throughout  the  game,  but  lost  it,  having  marked  but  six 
points.  Then  Twist  proposed,  and  Able  agreed,  that  their 
wagers  should  continue  throughout  the  match. 

Twist  looked  quite  exultant,  but  was  surprised  at  the 
invariable  correctness  and  promptness  of  Quid's  play.  But 
this  he  hoped  to  see  fall  away,  as  Jerry  should  answer  his 
repeated  calls  for  brandy  and  water.  Vain  hope!  The 
first  was  the  only  game  won  by  Twist,  until  he  had  lost 
nearly  five  hundred  dollars.  Meantime,  at  the  end  of  each 
game  Ould  had  never  failed  to  issue  the  usual  order  to 
Jerry.  Yet  Twist  observed  with  amazement,  and  deep  con 
cern,  that  he  had  never  made  a  wrong  play.  Though  the 
drink  had  so  far  affected  his  muscles  that  he  could  hardly 
grasp  the  cards,  his  head  seemed  still  as  clear  as  at  the 
beginning.  Twist  seemed  very  much  disturbed  by  his  loss. 


286  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

He  rose  from  the  table  while  Ould  was  shuffling  the  cards, 
and  walked  back  and  forth  across  the  room,  apparently  in 
deep  meditation.  He  had  begun  to  fear  that  the  drink 
would  sooner  or  later  overthrow  Ould,  and  put  an  end  to 
the  play,  leaving  him  no  opportunity  to  recover  his  loss. 
He  therefore  made  to  Lewis  and  Able  a  new  proposition. 
This  was  to  play  one  rub,  "double  or  quits."  Lewis  shook 
his  head  doubtfully,  but  after  a  moment  he  and  Able 
retired  for  consultation,  Ould  saying,  "I  never  play  double 
or  quits,  as  you  all  know;  it  leads  to  too  high  gaming  for 
me.  But  it  is  your  trade,  Lewis.  I'll  win  for  you,  if  Mr. 
Twist  does  not  hold  the  best  cards." 

After  a  while,  Lewis  and  Able  come  forward  and  an 
nounce  that  they  accept  the  offer;  and  they  have  a  new 
pack  of  cards,  and  prepare  for  the  game,  Ould  still  betting 
as  before.  Twist  has  shuffled  the  cards  most  industriously, 
mixing  them  in  every  way  known  to  practiced  players. 
Ould  again  wins  the  deal.  When  this  has  been  made,  and 
the  cards  assorted,  Ould  says,  before  a  card  has  been  played : 
"I  will  give  you  two  points ;  you  can't  make  more." 

Twist  studies  the  hands  diligently  for  some  time,  and 
then  accepts  this  offer,  and  scores  two.  This  had  often 
occurred  during  the  games,  the  cards  being  thrown  up, 
and  the  claim  of  one  or  the  other  allowed  without  a  play. 
On  the  next  hand  Twist  has  omnipotent  cards,  with  four 
honors,  and  Ould,  after  a  glance  at  the  hands,  throws  up 
the  game.  Twist  is  now  jubilant,  and,  seeing  that  Ould 
does  not  issue  his  stated  order  for  drink,  calls  out  to  Jerry 
to  bring  Mr.  Ould  some  brandy  and  water,  and  to  make 
a  toddy  for  him,  Twist.  A  quiet  smile  passes  over  Mr. 
Quid's  face  as  he  observes  Twist's  officious  politeness.  The 
next  game  Ould  wins,  and  Twist  looks  decidedly  glum.  He 
takes  a  good  drink  of  the  toddy,  swallowing  about  half 
of  it,  while  Ould  tosses  off  his  brandy  at  one  draught. 

Now  comes  the  deciding  game.  Again  Twist  calls  on 
Jerry  to  give  Mr.  Ould  some  brandy.  Ould  says  nothing 
against  it,  but  sings  out  in  his  big  voice,  without  any  dis 
cernible  tune,  lago's  bacchanalian  song: 

"'And  let  me  the  cannican  clink,  clink, 
And  let  me  the  cannican  clink. 


The  Gambling-room  287 

A  soldier's  a  man, 
A  life's  but  a  span, 
Why,  then,  let  a  soldier  drink.'  " 

At  which  Lewis  and  Able  regard  him  with  much  concern. 

On  the  first  deal  in  the  decisive  game,  Twist  makes  four. 
The  backers  of  Ould  look  rather  serious.  On  the  next 
hand  Ould  makes  six,  and  Twist  is  down  in  the  mouth. 
On  the  third  deal,  Twist  scores  five,  making  his  score  nine, 
and  he  is  much  elated.  On  the  fourth  deal  Ould  scores 
two,  and  may  now  count  out  by  honors,  and  his  party  is 
decidedly  jubilant.  The  last  deal  comes,  and  Twist  is 
livid  with  excitement.  He  is  especially  disturbed  by  seeing 
that  Quid's  last  glass  of  brandy  remains  untouched.  He 
reminds  him  of  this,  but  Ould  is  busy  assorting  his  cards, 
and  scrutinizing  the  hands,  and  only  mutters,  "After  the 
game."  At  which  Lewis  and  Able  grin.  Twist  turns  over 
the  cards  on  the  table,  and  finding  the  king  and  knave  in 
his  hand,  cannot  forbear  to  say,  "Mr.  Ould  is  not  out  by 
honors,  anyway." 

"No,"  replied  Ould,  "but  I  am  out  by  tricks." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  you  are  not  out,"  said  Twist. 

"I  shall '  be,  when  the  hand  is  played  out,"  persisted 
Ould. 

Twist  studied  the  cards  long  and  carefully,  and  then 
said :  "Will  you  bet  on  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ould,  "I  will  bet  ten  dollars  that  I  will  go 
out  on  this  hand";  and  Twist  accepted  it. 

"I'll  give  you  a  point,"  said  Twist,  "making  you  nine." 

"No;  play  on,"  said  Ould.    "I  am  going  out." 

Twist  played  slowly  and  carefully,  Ould  replying  quickly, 
and  finally  making  a  play  at  which  Twist  bounced  from 
his  seat,  with  an  oath,  and  surrendered  the  game. 

Meantime,  John  D.  had  gone  home  to  change  his  wet 
clothes  and  then  straight  to  Quid's  office,  and,  not  finding 
him  there,  was  on  his  way  to  the  tavern,  when  he  met 
Johnson,  one  of  the  dissipated  young  dandies  of  the  town, 
and  asked  him  if  he  knew  where  he  could  find  Mr.  Ould. 

"Do  you  want  to  see  him  about  business  ?"  said  Johnson. 

"Yes,  sir ;  very  particular  business.  He  would  be  looking 
for  me,  if  he  knew  what  I  want  with  him." 


288  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"Well,  come  with  me,  and  I  think  I  can  find  him  for 
you."  And  he  and  John  D.  walked  away  together. 

There  was  a  sort  of  freemasonry  among  the  men  that 
frequented  Lewis's  room,  and  any  transaction  like  the 
match  at  double  dummy  between  Ould  and  Twist  was  sure 
to  be,  in  some  occult  way,  communicated  to  the  fraternity. 
Johnson  knew  of  it,  and,  when  John  D.  met  him,  was  on 
his  way  to  the  gaming-room.  Leaving  John  D.  at  the 
door,  he  entered  there  just  as  the  last  game  had  been  ended. 
He  saw  the  gamblers,  with  satisfaction  on  their  faces,  pock 
eting  their  winnings,  while  those  of  Ould  lay  on  the  table 
before  him;  and  these  circumstances,  with  Twist's  glum 
face,  made  plain  to  him  the  general  result  of  the  match. 

Twist  did  not  like  his  defeat  to  be  made  a  topic  of  dis 
cussion.  The  opportunity  for  which  he  had  so  long  waited, 
to  find  Ould  in  the  beginning  of  a  debauch,  and  to  play 
with  him  for  large  stakes,  had  been  thrown  right  in  his 
way;  the  gamblers  had  backed  Ould,  as  he  desired  they 
should,  and  he  had  been  badly  beaten.  And  worst  of  all, 
he  had  lost  five  hundred  dollars  belonging  to  a  country 
client,  who  might  come  at  any  hour  to  demand  it.  Not 
willing  that  Johnson  should  know  all  the  particulars,  and 
annoyed  by  the  covert  exultation  on  the  faces  of  the  gam 
blers,  he  at  once  pretended  a  matter  of  business  with  John 
son.  "Come  here,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  see  you."  And 
putting  his  arm  over  Johnson's  shoulder,  and  talking  in 
an  undertone  about  nothing,  he  drew  him  to  the  door. 
There  they  met  John  D.,  whom,  in  his  preoccupation,  John 
son  had  forgotten.  He  apologized  to  the  lad,  and  was 
about  to  return  to  the  room,  when  John  D.  handed  him  the 
following  note,  written  on  a  slip  of  paper,  which  he  took 
in  to  Ould: 

"MR.  OULD:  I  want  to  see  you  at  the  door  on  very 
particular  business — about  the  tin  box  you  have  been  look 
ing  for  so  long.  JOHN  D." 

Then  Twist  and  Johnson  walked  off  together  down  the 
street.  Let  us  go  with  them  a  little  way. 

"What  did  you  want  to  say  to  me?"  said  Johnson,  when 
they  had  passed  out  of  the  room. 


The  Gambling-room  289 

''Well,  nothing.  I  wanted  to  get  you  out  of  that  cursed 
den.  Come,  walk  with  me." 

"How  did  you  come  off  from  your  match  with  Ould  ?" 

"He  beat  me." 

"How  many  games,  and  for  what  stakes?" 

"Well,  I  hardly  know — I  lost  a  good  deal  of  money."  And 
then  he  lapsed  into  abuse  of  the  den,  as  he  now  called  the 
room  in  which  he  had  enjoyed  himself  so  much  in  the  past, 
and  which  he  had  promised  himself  should  be  the  scene  of  a 
coup-de-main,  by  which  he  would  win  large  sums  from 
the  gamblers,  by  beating  Ould  when  he  should  find  him 
there  drunk.  He  had  communicated  this  design  to  John 
son,  in  the  course  of  their  intimate  association,  and  had 
invited  him  to  take  a  share  in  the  stake,  which  Johnson 
had  declined,  pretending  a  want  of  money,  but  really  be 
cause  he  thought  Ould  just  as  good  a  player  drunk  as  sober, 
and  in  either  condition  an  overmatch  for  Twist  or  anybody 
else.  He  was  not  sorry  for  the  misfortune  of  his  friend, 
for  theirs  was  not  true  friendship.  Nor  was  it  the  con 
ventional  friendship  of  society,  shining  with  the  mild  efful 
gence  of  the  theater  moon  or  the  "uneffectual  fire"  of  the 
stage  stove  with  a  candle  in  it,  but  a  specious  counterfeit, 
like  that  born  of  companionship  in  drink — a  phosphoric 
glow — "blazes  giving  more  light  than  heat" — easily  con 
vertible  into  contempt  or  hatred. 

Twist  was  a  complex  character;  loaded  down  with  vi 
cious  inclinations,  without  imagination,  unrefined,  sensual, 
coarse  in  all  his  tastes,  indolent,  and  bent  upon  making 
his  way  in  life  without  labor.  Yet,  secretive  and  full  of 
tact,  he  presented  to  the  world  generally  an  appearance 
of  respectability;  a  strong  ingredient  of  personal  pride 
doing  the  office  of  conscientiousness,  and  keeping  him  from 
the  utter  degradation  to  which  his  evil  propensities  in 
clined  him.  Johnson  was  soon  tired  of  Twist's  Jeremiads, 
and  left  him  a  prey  to  remorse,  and  in  the  midst  of  strug 
gles  toward  virtuous — or  rather  prudent — resolutions,  and, 
eager  to  learn  the  particulars  of  the  match  at  whist,  he 
went  back  to  Lewis's  room,  whither  we  must  now  return 
to  relieve  John  D.,  left  standing  at  the  door. 

Ould  had  started  up  when  he    read    John    D/s  note. 


290  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"Lewis,"  said  he,  "here  is  important  business  that  con 
cerns  my  best  friend.  Let  Jerry  show  the  young  gentleman 
at  the  door  into  your  room.  He  will  have  to  wait  there 
a  while  until  I  cool  off.  What  books  have  you  there,  be 
sides  Shakespeare  and  the  Bible  and  Hoyle's  games?" 

"I  haven't  got  Hoyle  there  at  all.  We  keep  that  here. 
There  is  nothing  in  my  room  that  smells  of  the  shop.  I've 
got  Robinson  Crusoe  there,  a  splendid  edition,  if  he  isn't 
too  old  for  that." 

"Give  him  that.  Too  old !  A  man  is  never  too  old  for 
Robinson.  I  read  it  myself  now." 

Then  Lewis  went  to  the  door,  and  courteously  showed 
John  D.  into  his  room,  and  put  the  book  before  him.  Mean 
time,  Ould,  furnished  by  Jerry  with  a  lump  of  ice  and  a 
bowl  of  water,  was  busy  applying  these  to  his  head ;  satu 
rating  his  hair  with  the  cold  water,  and  passing  the  ice 
often  across  the  back  of  his  neck  and  head.  After  refrig 
erating  himself  in  this  way  a  long  time,  he  strained  the 
water  from  his  hair,  and  throwing  back  his  head,  shook 
the  great  black  shock  as  a  buffalo  shakes  his  mane.  Then 
he  blew  a  blast  from  his  throat,  as  a  horse  does  after  a 
run  over  a  new  pasture.  Then  taking  a  towel  in  each  hand, 
he  rubbed  his  head  until  the  hair  stood  up  in  one  great 
frizzled  mass.  Then  he  sat  down  and  made  Jerry  rub  his 
head  and  scratch  it,  and  press  it  from  the  sides.  "Harder, 
harder!"  he  would  say;  "crush  it  if  you  can."  Then  he 
had  it  all  brushed  out  again,  and  carefully  tying  his  neck 
cloth  before  the  glass,  and  scrutinizing  his  face,  and  espe 
cially  his  great  black  eyes,  until  he  seemed  satisfied  with 
himself,  he  walked  rapidly  to  Lewis's  room. 

"Well,  John  D.,  what  is  this  about  the  tin  box?" 

"Mr.  Ould,"  said  John  D.,  "I  have  got  something  very 
particular  to  tell  you.  Can  nobody  hear  us  here  ?  Hadn't 
we  better  go  to  your  office?" 

"No;  nobody  will  hear  us  here;  this  is  a  better  place 
than  my  office." 

"Well — what  do  you  think?  I  went  over  on  the  falls 
this  morning,  and  whom  should  I  see  there  but  Stokes  !" 

"Jim  Stokes?" 

"Yes;  Stokes  the  robber." 


The  Gambling-room  291 

"Why,  what  the  devil  is  he  doing  there ;  and  what  about 
the  box  ?" 

Then  John  D.  related  his  interview  with  Stokes,  and 
what  he  had  said  about  the  missing  tin  box,  and  pretty 
much  all  that  had  passed  between  them.  This  was  news 
indeed  to  Ould.  "The  rascal!"  he  muttered.  "Why,  he 
always  denied  that  he  had  anything  to  do  with  that  rob 
bery.  That  alone  would  not  have  signified,  but  he  told 
such  a  circumstantial  story  as  I  thought  him  incapable 
of  inventing,  and  I  believed  him.  Well,  John  D.,  this  is 
particular  business !  I  must  see  him  to-night.  You  have 
not  told  anybody  of  this?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"Well,  of  course  not.  Keep  it  to  yourself.  Not  a  word 
or  a  hint  to  anybody,  not  even  to  your  father — especially 
not  to  him.  You  say  he  is  careful  about  showing  himself?" 

"Yes;  he  says  that  Phipps's  fishermen  would  know  him 
a  mile  off  if  he  were  to  walk  on  the  rocks." 

"He  is  in  the  right.  They  would  be  after  him  for  the 
reward  offered  by  the  jailer,  and  for  a  little  private  ven 
geance  also.  McKenzie,  who  was  a  witness  to  prove  his 
good  character  while  in  Shippingport,  told  me  that  they 
undertook  to  beat  him,  one  night,  in  his  tavern,  but  that 
he  literally  turned  the  tables  on  them.  That  he  got  hold 
of  a  table,  and  breaking  the  legs  off,  laid  about  him  with 
a  leg  in  each  hand,  knocking  the  whole  party  down;  that 
he  went  whirling  through  the  room  like  a  windmill  in  a 
gale,  strewing  the  floor  with  his  assailants,  and  when  they 
were  all  down,  took  to  his  heels  and  ran  away.  You  don't 
mind  going  back  there?" 

"No,  sir ;  I  must  go  back.  I  promised  him  to  come  back 
after  seeing  you." 

"You  are  not  afraid  of  his  doing  you  any  harm  ?" 

"No,  indeed !  Why,  I  believe  that  when  I  stumbled  on 
him  in  the  fog,  he  was  worse  scared  than  I  was.  I  don't 
think  there's  any  harm  in  him,  anyhow." 

"It  must  have  been  to  you  like  meeting  a  lion  in  your 
path." 

"Yes,  sir ;  but  then  he  was  like  JEsop's  lion,  with  a  thorn 
in  his  foot." 


292  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Then  Quid  sent  John  D.  for  an  almanac,  and  finding 
the  hour  at  which  the  moon  went  down,  wrote  a  note  in  the 
following  words: 

"STOKES:  To-night,  when  the  moon  goes  down,  I  will 
be  on  the  Kentucky  shore,  opposite  the  point  on  the  island 
where  you  built  your  fire  this  morning.  I  will  show  a 
lantern  toward  the  island.  Come  to  me,  and  deliver  up 
the  tin  box  and  all  that  belongs  to  it,  and  I  will  provide 
you  with  money  and  a  horse  to  take  you  away. 

"K.  OULD." 

"He  knows  that  signature.  I  sent  him  two  notes  to  the 
jail,  while  he  was  there,  and  he  kept  them,  and,  as  I  learned, 
set  great  store  by  them.  He  can't  read  a  word,  nor  write 
anything  except  his  own  name,  and  this  he  is  so  fond  of 
writing  that  he  used  to  scratch  the  jail  room  over  with  it. 
He  leaves  his  sign-manual  everywhere.  I  cautioned  him 
about  this,  and  advised  him  to  write  only  on  the  sand, 
and  by  the  waterside.  Destroy  my  note  after  showing  it 
to  him." 

The  reader  shall  not  be  wearied  by  following  John  D. 
in  his  second  jaunt  to  the  falls.  Let  it  suffice  that  he 
found  the  robber  in  his  lair  and  gave  him  Quid's  note, 
which  he  required  to  be  read  to  him  more  than  once,  and 
then  took  it  in  his  hands,  and,  scrutinizing  the  signature, 
said:  "Yes,  that's  his  handwrite.  I  know  it  of  old," 
and  smiled  with  a  look  of  benevolence  and  gratification  that 
touched  John  D.'s  young  heart,  and  inspired  him  with 
interest  in  the  safe  issue  of  the  robber  out  of  all  his  trou 
bles.  Stokes  now  endeavored  to  prolong  the  lad's  stay 
on  the  island,  but  the  excitement  of  the  adventure  had 
so  possessed  him  that  the  fishing  now  suggested  by  Stokes 
seemed  tame,  and  he  hastened  his  preparations  to  return 
to  the  town.  There  was  a  sensible  break  in  the  big  fellow's 
voice  when  he  bade  John  D.  good-by,  and  said :  "Farewell, 
my  little  man — my  young  gentleman.  You  have  been  a 
savior  to  me.  It's  mighty  good  of  you  to  take  so  much 
trouble  for  a  poor  unfortunate  man  like  me."  It  ain't  likely 
I  can  ever  do  any  good  for  you,  but  I  won't  ever  forgit 
you." 


The  Gambling-room  293 

Early  next  morning  Ould  was  at  the  house  of  Digby. 
Great  was  the  joy  of  that  worthy  man  to  find  the  long-lost 
receipt  of  McCrae's  deputy,  for  the  full  amount  of  the 
execution,  in  the  possession  of  Ould! 

"Now,"  said  Digby,  with  a  triumphant  air,  "you  have 
those  fellows  in  a  box.  I  must  be  in  the  court  when  you 
spring  this  receipt  on  them.  We  must  have  Thornton  in, 
too.  I'll  speak  to  Tom  Long,  and  he  shall  have  half  the 
town  there  to  witness  their  shame — "' 

"Oh,"  said  Ould,  "we  can't  have  any  scene  made  out 
of  it.  I  am  bound  by  professional  courtesy  to  acquaint 
the  counsel  with  a  defense  so  complete  as  this.  It  would 
be  against  all  propriety  to  surprise  them  with  this  receipt. 
They  would  have  a  just  right  to  complain,  and  would  say : 
'We  regret  that  our  brother  did  not  out  of  court  acquaint 
us  of  the  complete  defense  furnished  by  the  paper  which 
he  now  asks  leave  to  file,  when  it  would  have  given  us 
pleasure  to  dismiss  the  suit,  and  to  congratulate  Mr.  Ould 
and  his  client,  as  we  do  now,  upon  the  recovery  of  this 
receipt.  The  sheriff  must  now  look  to  his  deputy's  securi 
ties.'  '; 

"The  blanked  hypocrites !"  ejaculated  Digby. 

Accordingly,  the  receipt  was  exhibited  to  the  opposite 
counsel,  who,  recognizing  the  familiar  signature  of  the 
dead  deputy,  at  once  dismissed  the  action.  There  were 
many  who  shared  in  the  feeling  of  Digby,  and  in  his  desire 
to  emphasize  the  defeat  of  what,  there  is  little  doubt,  was 
a  nefarious  scheme,  and  expose  its  author,  and  the  roguish 
lawyer  abetting  him,  to  the  just  indignation  of  the  public. 
A  skilful  writer  of  fiction  might  have  made  of  this  a  fine 
dramatic  scene  in  court.  The  faithful  chronicler  can  relate 
only  the  simple  truth. 

Mr.  John  Digby's  hostility  to  rogues  was  not  confined 
to  rogues  of  low  degree.  He  liked  even  better  to  fly  at 
high  game.  "Bob  Ould,"  he  said  afterward  when  they 
were  in  friendly  conference,  "you  know  that  that  roguish 
lawyer  was  in  Collusion  with  McCrae  to  rob  Bob  Thornton. 
He  ought  to  be  turned  out  of  the  profession.  But  lawyers 
can  hardly  ever  be  brought  to  take  a  step  against  one  of 
the  fraternity.  'Dog  won't  eat  dog.'  They  can  hardly  be 


294  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

got  to  take  a  step  against  any  official  of  the  courts,  clerk 
or  sheriff,  for  want  of  a  lawyer  that  would  push  a  motion 
against  him.  Don't  you  know  that  there  was  a  conspiracy 
in  Bob's  case?" 

"No,  I  don't  know  it.  I  am  strongly  inclined  to  believe 
it,  from  many  circumstances.  Stokes  told  me  that  the 
little  Englishman  who  was  suspected  of  complicity  in  the 
robbery,  and  was  certainly  concerned  in  it,  but  discharged 
for  want  of  evidence,  and  who  employed  this  lawyer  to 
defend  him,  wanted  to  get  possession  of  the  sheriff's  re 
ceipt,  which  he  had  seen  when  they  first  overhauled  the 
tin  box;  but  Stokes  refused  to  let  him  have  it,  though  he 
was  very  persistent  in  his  effort  to  get  it,  and  said  he  could 
get  Trig  money'  for  it.  But  the  evidence  of  these  rogues, 
one  a  fugitive  from  justice,  even  if  they  could  be  brought 
to  testify,  and  their  testimony  were  conclusive,  would  not 
avail  to  disbar  a  lawyer  in  full  practice.  If  I  could  prove 
the  conspiracy  by  a  competent  witness,  I  would  move 
against  both  to-morrow;  not  only  to  displace  them,  but 
also  by  a  criminal  prosecution.  You  do  the  bar  great  injus 
tice,  as  the  world  does  generally.  I  am  not  behind  you, 
and  the  bar  is  not,  in  detestation  of  such  vile  practices. 
Why,  even  Stokes,  who  seemed  to  know  the  facts  of  the 
case,  was  amazed  and  shocked.  Rogue  as  he  is,  he  was 
simple  enough  to  believe  that  crime  was  all  confined  to 
such  as  he.  That  men  with  all  the  comforts  of  life  about 
them,  who  can  read  and  write,  who  go  to  church  on  Sun 
day,  and  live  cleanly,  and  wear  such  a  high  polish — 
gentlemen — should  brood  over  such  a  crime  as  this,  to  be 
hatched  at  last,  and  consummated  in  the  very  court  of  jus 
tice,  seemed  to  him  monstrous  and  incomprehensible.  It 
has  shaken  his  faith  in  humanity  and  reconciled  him  to  his 
own  low  vice,  stealing,  to  which  he  has  a  natural  and 
invincible  proclivity. 

"There  are  bad  men  at  the  bar  here,  as  everywhere.  But 
the  bar  is  prompt  to  discover  them  and  to  cause  them  to 
change  their  field  of  labor.  Such  men  are  continually  mov 
ing  from  place  to  place.  This  man,  a  'wheeling  stranger/ 
has  made  a  reputation  here,  and  has  unquestionable  ability, 
but  he  will  soon  be  made  to  move  on  by  the  silent  opinion 


The  Gambling-room  295 

of  the  bar.  Some  day  he  may  be  fixed  in  a  great  city, 
where  such  men  are  apt  to  congregate,  and  keep  each  other 
in  countenance,  and  constitute  a  dangerous  class  that,  if 
not  likely  to  suffer  under  the  penal  statutes,  yet,  under 
the  inscrutable  economy  of  Providence,  sooner  or  later  meet 
with  inevitable,  adequate  punishment." 


CHAPTEE  XXIX 

THE    CODE   OF   HONOR 

r 

The  Capulet's  abroad, 
And,  if  we  meet,  we  shall  not  'scape  a  brawl." 

THE  Virginia  colony  in  Kentucky  brought  with  them 
all  the  social  laws  and  customs  derived  from  their  English 
ancestors.  Notable  among  these  was  that  strange  unwritten 
social  law,  "The  code  of  honor/'  under  which  men  often 
put  their  lives  in  peril  for  what  none  could  define,  a  vague 
sense  of  something  that  is  nothing : 

"  Pleasure  to  have  it  none,  to  lose  it  pain." 

[And  this  law,  subsisting  only  by  the  sanction  of  precedents 
from  the  rude  age  of  chivalry,  was  there  fastened  invincibly 
upon  all  that  called  themselves  gentlemen.  But  the  prac 
tice  of  dueling  was,  in  the  course  of  time,  modified  at  The 
Falls,  as  this  chronicler  will  now  show,  through  one  of 
the  innocent  foibles  of  the  people. 

The  people  of  Kentucky  are  in  a  high  degree  imitative. 
If  one  of  their  popular  orators  makes  an  apt  quotation,  or 
uses  any  new  and  felicitous  expression  in  a  public  speech, 
it  is  at  once  caught  up  and  repeated  by  every  minor  public 
speaker,  from  one  end  of  the  State  to  the  other.  The 
manners,  and  dress,  and  even  the  foibles  of  their  distin 
guished  men  they  are  especially  prone  to  copy.  About 
Lexington  and  Frankfort,  and  elsewhere,  may  be  found, 
even  now,  among  the  old  lawyers  and  people  about  the 
public  offices,  men  who  say  "Good  mar-ning"  with  the  well- 
known  drawl  with  which  Mr.  Clay  always  made  that  salu 
tation.  And  everywhere  there  are  politicians  who,  if  they 
can  copy  the  great  man  in  nothing  else,  can  yet  imitate 

296 


The  Code  of  Honor  297 

him  in  the  constant  flourish  of  a  handkerchief.  Many  men 
have  become  addicted  to  snuffing  because  Mr.  Clay  had 
that  habit,  and  they  practice  it  in  a  manner  plainly  imi 
tated  from  him.  In  imitation  of  Judge  Underwood,  men 
about  Bowling  Green  still  wear  broad-brimmed  hats,  and 
many  other  instances  of  this  imitative  disposition  could 
be  given. 

When  in  1809,  at  the  mouth  of  Silver  Creek,  in  Indiana 
Territory,  Mr.  Clay  and  Humphrey  Marshall  fought  a 
duel,  the  few  witnesses  were  beset  by  people  anxious  to 
know  all  the  details  of  this  affair.  Dr.  William  Gait  was 
Mr.  Clay's  surgical  attendant,  and  though  one  of  the  most 
punctilious  of  men,  there  came  a  time  when  to  his  friends 
he  felt  at  liberty  to  relate  these  particulars,  and  they  be 
came  generally  known.  Mr.  Clay  was  hit  in  the  leg  and 
knocked  over;  "the  bullet,"  to  use  the  doctor's  words, 
"neatly  dissecting  the  muscle,  without  injury  to  any  im 
portant  gland  or  blood  vessel,  the  wound  healed  promptly, 
without  any  permanent  hurt."  The  manner  and  bearing 
of  these  distinguished  combatants  were  eagerly  inquired 
about,  and  it  was  made  known  that  Mr.  Clay  had  come 
on  the  ground  with  the  well-known  air  he  wore  on  all  occa 
sions  of  ordinary  social  intercourse,  with  little  more  gravity 
than  usual,  but  only  the  easy,  yet  stately,  bearing  natural 
to  him.  On  the  other  hand,  the  manner  of  Mr.  Marshall 
was  austere  and  dignified  in  an  unusual  degree.  Thence 
forth,  in  all  affairs  of  this  kind,  the  parties  imitated  on 
the  field  the  manner  of  the  great  men ;  the  austere  dignity 
of  Mr.  Marshall,  or  the  stately  insouciance  of  Mr.  Clay, 
as  their  several  dispositions  or  their  politics  inclined  them. 
But,  what  is  more  important,  they  imitated  also  the  aim 
of  the  successful  combatant,  endeavoring  thereafter  to  make 
what  was  called  in  their  vocabulary  a  "low  line  shot."  And 
thus  this  bloody  practice  was  tempered  by  what  grew  into 
a  conventional  law  forbidding  any  but  a  low  line  shot;  and 
this  law  regulated  the  practice  of  dueling,  except  in  two 
certain  causes  of  quarrel,  as  long  as  the  practice  subsisted 
at  The  Falls.  The  first  exception  was  the  case  of  a  quarrel 
between  neighbors  about  disputed  boundaries;  the  old,  old 
story,  where  they  will 


298  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"Fight  for  a  plot 

Whereon  the  numbers  cannot  try  the  cause, 
Which  is  not  tomb  enough  and  continent 
To  hide  the  slain." 

The  second,  still  older,  was  that  primeval  "causa  teterrima 
belli" — woman.  A  dispute  about  boundaries  was  often 
fought  out  in  the  courts  of  law,  and  sometimes  compro 
mised;  the  other  never.  When  either  became  the  ground 
of  a  duel  the  fight  was  deadly. 

The  Falls,  like  all  communities,  had  its  factions  social 
and  political ;  and,  as  in  all  small  communities,  these  were 
marked  by  especial  bitterness.  In  the  past,  duels  had  often 
taken  place  between  their  opposing  members,  and  though 
some  years  had  now  elapsed  since  an  "affair"  had  occurred, 
and  the  parties  to  former  duels  were,  by  reason  of  age  or 
family  or  responsibility,  considered  almost  out  of  the  pale 
of  the  code,  yet  abundant  material  for  combustion  was  at 
hand  in  younger  members,  liable  at  any  time  to  be  kindled 
into  flame.  Accordingly,  a  quarrel  now  occurred  to  which, 
to  the  surprise  of  everybody,  Stackpole,  who  had  come 
"home,"  as  he  expressed  it,  was  a  party ;  his  opponent  being 
a  young  man  belonging  to  a  faction  against  which,  in  the 
past,  Mr.  John  Digby  had  always  stood  opposed.  This 
quarrel  grew  out  of  the  accidental  meeting  of  Stackpole 
and  a  young  gentleman,  a  stranger  to  the  town,  having  the 
same  impediment  of  speech  as  he — not  being  able  to  sound 
the  letter  r.  Some  indifferent  words  passing  between  them, 
each  thought  the  other  was  offensively  imitating  his  own 
infirmity.  An  altercation  ensued,  when  both  men  growing 
angry,  as  they  warmed  with  the  dispute,  the  colloquy  be 
came  in  the  highest  degree  ludicrous,  exciting  much  merri 
ment  among  the  bystanders,  and  great  wrath  in  the 
stranger. 

Subsequently,  when  Stackpole  learned  that  the  strange 
gentleman  was  really  afflicted  with  this  infirmity  of  speech, 
he  was  greatly  concerned  at  having  stood  in  the  attitude  of 
offering  an  affront  to  a  stranger.  As  he  had  kept  his  tem 
per  better  than  his  adversary,  and  had  therefore  come  out 
of  the  altercation  with  decided  advantage,  Stackpole,  at 
once  waiving  all  question  about  the  onus  of  the  quarrel, 


The  Code  of  Honor  299 

sent  a  note  to  the  gentleman  explaining  his  own  well-known 
infirmity,  and  disavowing  any  intention  of  offense.  To 
this  he  received  a  polite  response,  accepting  the  explana 
tion  (which  had  in  fact  already  reached  him  from  other 
quarters),  expressing  regret  for  the  unfortunate  occurrence, 
and  sorry  for  his  own  unhappy  exhibition  of  temper,  and 
offering  an  apology  for  any  rudeness  on  his  part.  On  the 
same  day  the  gentleman  went  away  home,  and  the  affair 
was  considered  well  at  an  end. 

On  the  next  day  the  young  gentleman  whose  guest  the 
stranger  had  been  sent  by  a  gentleman  well  known  in  con 
nection  with  these  affairs,  a  note  to  Stackpole  demanding 
peremptorily  satisfaction  for  an  insult  offered  his  friend, 
stating  that  insults  offered  to  his  guest  were  insults  to 
himself.  Stackpole  asked  a  brief  time  to  consider  the 
matter,  promising  an  early  response,  and  then  took  the  note 
to  Russell,  and  calling  in  Mclntyre,  the  three  friends  held 
a  council  of  war.  Russell  and  Mclntyre  both  knew  that 
Stackpole,  though  not  to  the  manner  born,  and  grounded 
in  opinion  against  the  practice,  had  yet  long  ago  made  up 
his  mind  to  conform  to  the  custom  of  the  country,  and  to 
fight  if  a  proper  occasion  should  occur.  Avowing  still  his 
adherence  to  this  resolution,  the  friends  saw  no  course  with 
a  peremptory  challenge  but  to  accept,  which  he  did,  refer 
ring  the  gentleman  to  Mclntyre  for  further  arrangements. 
As  for  Mclntyre,  he  said  that  a  peremptory  challenge  was, 
except  in  certain  extreme  cases,  in  itself  an  insult  only 
to  be  redeemed  by  an  excessive  use  of  courtly  terms,  not 
found  in  this  gentleman's  challenge. 

The  matter  was  kept  secret  by  these  gentlemen,  but  the 
adverse  faction  were  perhaps  less  reticent,  for  Tom  Long 
soon  got  wind  of  the  affair  and  at  once  made  it  known  to 
his  friend  and  patron,  Mr.  John  Digby.  Great  was  the 
surprise  of  that  worthy  man.  "And  he  has  promptly  ac 
cepted  !  Well,  hurrah  for  Stackpole !  There's  life  in  the 
old  Yankee  blood  yet" ;  and  then  he  posted  off  to  the  quar 
ters  of  Mclntyre,  where  he  found  him  and  Russell  in  con 
sultation,  and  at  once  threw  himself  into  the  affair  as  if  he 
meant  to  assume  complete  control.  "He  shall  have  my 
father's  pistols/'  he  said ;  "none  of  your  clumsy  sawhandles, 


300  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

but  the  real  old  Dublin  pattern,  made  by  Fowler,  and  the 
locks  by  Forster.  Is  Stackpole  anything  of  a  shot?" 

"Shot  I"  exclaimed  Mclntyre.  "He  can't  hit  the  side  of 
a  barn.  I  doubt  if  he  ever  pulled  a  trigger  or  let  off  a  gun 
of  any  kind  in  all  his  life." 

"Bless  my  soul  I"  exclaimed  Digby,  "I  might  have  known 
that ;  they  don't  fight  now  where  he  came  from ;  and  then 
sotto  voce,  "they  have  too  much  sense." 

"He  has  made  up  his  mind  to  fight,"  said  Kussell,  "and 
that  being  the  case  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  accept. 
That  has  been  done,  and  now"  (with  an  amiable  smile  upon 
Digby)  "all  we  want  of  you  is  the  use  of  your  pistols,  in 
case  we  need  them,  and  some  good  general  advice." 

"Yes,  but  I  am  my  own  man,  as  you  ought  to  know  pretty 
well,  and  I  shall  be  in  this  business  all  the  way  through  to 
the  end.  Don't  make  any  terms  until  I  see  you  again.  I 
shall  return  here  in  a  half  hour."  And  then  Mr.  John 
Digby  went  away  home. 

Soon  after  he  was  seen,  dressed  in  his  best  suit,  slowly 
promenading,  with  the  stately  mien  he  wore  at  times,  along 
the  chief  thoroughfare  of  the  town;  looking  into  various 
places  of  public  resort,  and  talking  with  such  acquaintances 
as  he  chanced  to  meet,  in  a  careless,  desultory  way;  and 
then  he  returned  to  Mclntyre's  quarters.  "Look  here," 
he  said  to  Russell  as  he  entered,  "you  know  Stackpole  inti 
mately.  How  do  you  think  he  will  bear  standing  up  to  be 
shot  at?" 

"As  well  as  any  man,"  said  Russell,  decisively.  "He  has 
long  ago  made  up  his  mind  to  that,  but  I  fear  he  is  not  so 
clear  about  shooting  at  the  other  man." 

"The  devil !  Oh,  that  won't  do  at  all ;  not  for  a  moment 
to  be  thought  of !  Do  you  know  that  I  think  that  thing  of 
firing  in  the  air  to  be  in  itself  an  unpardonable  affront. 
If  a  man  were  plainly  to  throw  away  his  shot  when  I  had 
fired  upon  him,  he  should  shoot  at  me  before  I  left  him,  if 
I  had  to  fall  upon  him  pell-mell.  A  man  has  no  right  to 
accept  with  such  a  purpose  in  his  mind.  He  ought  to  be 
brave  enough  rather  to  decline  to  fight  at  all.  No  man 
has  a  right  to  put  another  in  such  a  humiliating  posture 
as  that.  I  could  never  forgive  that — never!  Well,  go  on 


The  Code  of  Honor  301 

with  your  consultation,  but  make  no  terms  until  I  see  you 
again.  Eemember  that  Stackpole  must  be  put  on  an  equal 
footing  with  his  adversary.  You  say  he  can't  shoot  a  pistol, 
and  I  know  that  his  adversary  belongs  to  a  set  that  are 
constantly  practicing  with  that  weapon." 

"Yes,"  said  Mclntyre,  "and  if  they  are  not  butchers  of 
silk  buttons  they  have  crippled  half  the  fine  trees  in  the 
groves  here,  firing  bullets  into  them,  and  can  hit  a  tape 
line  at  the  drop  of  a  hat." 

"Yes,"  said  Digby,  "because  the  tape  line  cannot  shoot. 
It's  a  different  case  when  a  man  with  a  cocked  pistol  in  his 
hand,  and  his  eye  on  them,  stands  in  its  place.  If  Stack- 
pole  had  ever  shot  with  bow  and  arrow,  or  played  marbles, 
I  will  teach  him  in  a  few  hours  all  he  need  know.  If  not, 
he  must  select  another  weapon,  perhaps  a  harpoon." 

"I've  been  saying,"  said  Mclntyre,  "that  he  ought  to 
fight  with  the  sword,  and  I  wanted  to  teach  him  a  few 
strokes  and  parries  with  the  broadsword  or  the  saber;  but 
he's  got  no  wrist,  and  then  he's  so  near-sighted,  and  spec 
tacles  are  not  eyes,  and  are  liable  to  get  awry,  or  fall  off 
in  a  melee.  It's  a  bad  case  altogether.  I  wish  it  were 
.mine !  I'd  soon  teach  them  what  a  broadsword  can  do,  or 
a  pistol  either.  Anyway,  I  mean  to  give  a  lesson  to  the 
gentleman  who  bore  the  message,  for  having  brought  a 
groundless  challenge." 

"How  groundless?"  said  Digby. 

"Groundless  because  the  matter  had  been  already  settled 
between  the  original  parties — most  properly  settled.  Eead 
this  letter,"  handing  him  that  sent  by  the  adversary's 
guest. 

Digby  stood  a  moment  in  grim  meditation,  and  then  went 
suddenly  away.  Soon  after  he  was  seen  talking  with  Tom 
Long,  and  then  industriously  walking  from  point  to  point, 
inquiring  for  one  of  the  adverse  faction,  a  gentleman  of 
his  own  time  of  life,  well  known  in  dueling  circles,  who 
had  in  the  past  been  often  connected  with  those  affairs  as 
principal  or  second,  and  still  took  delight  in  rehearsing 
their  history.  Having  ascertained  that  he  was  then  in 
consultation  with  the  friends  of  Stackpole's  adversary, 
Digby  went  at  once  to  their  headquarters,  and  having  sent 


302  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

in  a  note  to  this  gentleman  requesting  an  interview,  he 
came  forth,  and  they  walked  away  together.  After  a  long 
colloquy  in  private,  during  which  the  rapid  gesticulation 
of  the  gentleman,  and  his  excited  manner,  contrasted 
strongly  with  Digby's  stolid  demeanor,  they  parted,  Digby 
going  in  the  direction  of  Stackpole's  headquarters,  mut 
tering  :  "They  shall  have  fighting  all  along  the  line." 

But  the  two  gentlemen  had  not  got  far  apart  when  Digby 
was  hailed  by  the  other,  who  had  now  turned  about,  and 
they  came  together  again  and  renewed  their  talk — Digby 
listening  with  a  stern  face,  while  the  other  seemed  to  be 
making  earnest  protestations.  After  a  time  they  suddenly 
shook  hands  and  parted. 

Meantime,  Mr.  Jack  Taylor  had  also  got  prompt  infor 
mation  of  the  affair,  and  now  behaved  in  the  most  unex 
pected  way.  As  soon  as  he  heard  that  Stackpole  had  ac 
cepted  a  challenge  to  fight,  and  was  backed  by  Digby  and 
Eussell  and  Mclntyre,  he  at  once  ranged  himself  on  their 
side,  and  in  order  to  be  in  readiness  for  whatever  might 
follow  (one  fight  often  making  many),  he  cleaned  up  a 
pair  of  ancestral  pistols  in  his  possession,  bought  seventy 
pounds  of  lead  in  the  "pig"  (it  coming  cheaper  in  that 
form),  and  set  about  practicing.  All  day  long,  with  only 
an  intermission  for  meals,  he  exercised  himself  firing  at  a 
tape  line  six  feet  in  length,  stretched  perpendicularly  along 
the  middle  of  a  slab  from  the  sawpit,  making  such  progress 
in  the  art  as  was  unprecedented,  and  astonishing  all  his 
friends  by  his  deadly  aim.  Mr.  Taylor's  long  practice  at 
flies  must  have  been  good  training  for  the  pistol,  discip 
lining  whatever  faculties  go  to  make  a  good  aim;  for  in 
an  incredibly  short  time,  Dennis  loading  for  him  and  giv 
ing  him  the  word,  he  came  to  be,  strictly  speaking,  a  dead 
shot;  for,  somehow,  he  could  not  acquire  the  conventional 
low-line  shot,  but  sent  his  bullets  always  into  the  regions 
of  the  vitals.  Mr.  Sterrett  and  others  who  went  out  to  see 
his  practice  were  shocked  by  his  deadly  aim,  and  tried  to 
bring  him  to  the  prevailing  conventional  form,  but  in  vain. 
Moreover,  it  was  ascertained  that  his  fire  could  not  be 
drawn  by  the  quick  shot  of  an  adversary,  as  when  they  tried 
this  with  bullets  of  cork  in  the  pistols,  his  opponent  was 


The  Code  of  Honor  303 

sure  at  every  fire  to  be  hit  about  the  thorax  or  other  vital 
region. 

What  a  strange  force  lay  in  that  social  law,  which  could 
make  this  young  gentlema^n,  who  would  not  risk  one  of 
his  dollars  upon  any  but  the  most  substantial  security, 
ready  to  peril  his  life  at  its  behest !  Having  thrown  him 
self  into  the  quarrel  of  his  friend,  he  was  now  prepared 
for  any  part  he  might  be  called  upon  to  play.  In  truth, 
there  followed  in  his  case  the  usual  consequence  with  all 
who  acquire  skill  in  any  art,  an  inclination  to  put  it  into 
practice.  Mr.  Taylor  had  now  something  more  than  an 
inclination — almost  a  positive  desire — to  put  in  practice 
and  exhibit  to  the  world  his  dreadful  accomplishment.  In 
all  his  intercourse  with  the  adverse  faction  he  wore  a  brist 
ling,  high-headed,  gamecock  air,  which  unmistakably  meant 
fight. 

Happily,  the  tact  and  firmness  of  Mr.  John  Digby 
brought  about  a  peaceful  settlement.  The  challenge  was 
withdrawn.  The  explanations  that  had  been  made  between 
the  parties  to  the  original  quarrel  being  exhibited,  left  noth 
ing  upon  which  to  ground  a  fight.  Some  people,  unchari 
table,  said  that  the  challenger  was  only  seeking  a  cheap  no 
toriety,  by  sending  a  cartel  to  one  he  thought  a  non-com 
batant,  and  that  he  was  greatly  disturbed  by  its  prompt 
acceptance,  and  by  Stackpole' s  formidable  backing. 

The  newspapers  of  the  day,  after  their  fashion,  chroni 
cled  this  "bloodless  affair" ;  and  it  was  eagerly  seized  upon 
by  the  press  at  large,  in  whose  comments  lurked  many 
sneers  at  what  they  chose  to  call  a  "fizzle."  The  peaceful 
adjustment  of  a  quarrel  was  not  to  the  taste  of  the  news 
paper  men  of  that  day.  They  liked  better  to  record  a 
serious  affair,  when  they  overflowed  with  homilies  upon 
the  dreadful  code.  Annoyed  by  the  notoriety  given  him 
by  this  affair,  Stackpole  proposed  to  Kussell  a  visit  to  Last- 
lands;  and  next  day,  having  provided  themselves  with  a 
supply  of  presents  for  the  slaves,  and  especially  for  Charles 
Fetter,  a  great  favorite  with  all  who  visited  there,  they  set 
out  for  Lastlands;  whither,  with  his  permission,  out  of 
the  noise  and  dust  of  the  town,  the  reader  shall  now  be 
transported,  leaving  Eussell  and  Stackpole  to  follow. 


304  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Notable  among  the  slaves  at  Lastlands  was  Charles  Fet 
ter.  He  belonged  to  the  long-haired  race  of  Africans,  hav 
ing  an  abundance  of  bushy  black  hair  standing  well  up,  and 
appropriately  framing  his  face.  His  forehead  was  low 
and  almost  triangular  in  shape,  but  the  brows  were  full  and 
uniformly  developed.  His  eyes  were  large,  with  massive 
lids,  and  his  features  were  generally  well  defined.  He  was 
tall  and  straight,  long-armed,  and  muscular  as  an  athlete. 
Though  sixty,  he  showed  no  indications  of  old  age,  having 
few  or  no  gray  hairs,  and  his  face  being  smooth  and  shin 
ing,  and  as  free  from  wrinkles  as  the  face  of  youth.  He 
had  also  the  spirit  of  youth,  and,  in  times  of  holiday,  took 
a  part  in  all  the  sports  of  the  younger  slaves,  and  was  noted 
for  skill  in  these.  At  marbles  he  was  an  expert,  and  could 
knuckle  down  and  plump  the  middle  man  from  taw  with 
the  precision,  and  with  something  like  the  force,  of  a  rifle 
ball.  It  was  a  sight  to  see  him,  when  the  Anser  was  frozen, 
swinging  in  the  "Dutch  roll,"  or  flying  over  the  ice  before 
Barbara  and  Phoebe  Vaughn  in  a  sled !  He  had  the  good 
manners  of  an  old  servant  bred  in  an  old  family,  neither 
any  assumption  nor  any  excess  of  humility,  but  only  simple 
native  dignity  and  absolute  politeness.  His  prowess  had 
been  shown  on  a  few  occasions,  in  such  fashion  as  made  it 
easy  for  him  to  keep  the  peace  thereafter.  He  had  long 
been  the  head  man  in  the  quarries,  and  the  "top-sawyer" 
in  the  sawpits  at  Lastlands,  and  had  provided  most  of  the 
building  material  required  there.  In  holiday  dress  he  af 
fected  bright  colors,  and  on  Sundays  wore  gilt  earrings. 

On  Saturday,  when  Eussell  and  Stackpole  drove  up  to 
the  house  at  Lastlands,  they  found  Thornton  standing  on 
the  veranda,  talking-  with  Charles,  who  stood  before  him 
on  the  gravel  road.  He  had  quitted  work  at  noon,  as  was 
the  custom  on  Saturday,  and  was  giving  his  master  some 
account  of  a  new  quarry.  In  his  left  hand  was  a  heavy 
iron  crowbar,  while  in  his  right  he  held  the  handle  of  a 
forty-pound  sledge,  the  hammer  resting  on  the  ground.  As 
he  stood  with  his  eyes  half  turned  to  the  sky,  revolving 
some  question  of  Thornton  about  the  quality  of  the  stone, 
his  ebony  face  shining  in  the  sun,  his  shirt  sleeves  rolled 
up  to  his  shoulders,  showing  his  arms  knotted  with  muscles 


The  Code  of  Honor  305 

that  strongly  contrasted  with  his  almost  childish  face,  he 
was  a  fit  model  for  the  ideal  "African  in  America."  He 
was  a  prime  favorite  with  Bussell,  who  delighted  to  talk 
with  him  and  to  repeat  his  odd  sayings,  and  to  imitate  him 
for  the  amusement  of  the  household ;  and  the  young  people, 
with  whom  also  "Uncle  Charles"  was  a  first  favorite,  were 
always  thrown  by  these  recitals  into  uncontrollable  giggles. 
Charles  himself  had  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  and  when  he 
and  Russell  met,  however  formal  and  grave  might  be  their 
first  salutations,  there  was  always  a  twinkle  in  their  eyes, 
showing  that  each  expected  some  fun  to  be  afoot  before  they 
parted. 

While  Stackpole  went  into  the  house  with  Thornton, 
Eussell  seated  himself  on  the  steps  of  the  veranda  to  have 
a  bout  with  Charles.  After  a  few  inquiries  about  his  fam 
ily,  which  consisted  of  only  a  wife,  and  learning  that  his 
"little  ole  woman"  was  well,  Eussell  said:  "I  was  sorry 
to  hear  that  some  of  the  Lastlands  people  that  went  into 
town  on  the  last  holiday  got  into  a  fight  there.  Horace 
Digby — Mr.  Buttons — told  me  of  it,  and  said  that  little 
Dick  had  whipped  Mr.  Gwathmey's  George;  and  he  men 
tioned  your  name  too." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Charles,  looking  a  little  abashed,  "sence 
you  done  heerd  'bout  it,  I  reckon  I  best  tell  you  de  true 
story.  Dey  did  have  a  fuss,  but  I  didn't  'low  to  say  nothin' 
'bout  it,  because  Mars  Eobert  natu'lly  despises  any  rowdyin' 
an'  fightin'  'mong  his  people.  You  see  dere's  been  a  grudge 
'twixt  little  Dick  an'  George  for  a  long  time — ever  sence 
Dick  went  waiter  on  one  o'  Mars  John  Digby's  steamboats 
down  to  New  Orleans,  an'  come  back  puttin'  on  French 
airs,  an'  talkin'  'bout  de  john-dom  [gens  d'anne],  an'  de 
callyboose,  an'  all  dat;  but  p'intedly  'cause  he  brought  a 
pineapple  to  Mr.  Maupin's  Malinda,  dat  George  is  sparkin'. 
So  when  dey  met  in  town  it  warn't  long  till  dey  kicked  up 
a  fuss,  an'  got  to  fightin'.  Eight  at  de  back  of  Mr.  Dob 
bins'  sto'  dey  begun,  an'  had  a  lively  fight.  Dick  is  as 
strong  as  a  little  jack-screw,  but  George  was  too  spry  for 
him,  jumpin'  back  out  de  way  when  Dick  tried  to  clinch 
him,  an'  spattin'  Dick  in  de  face,  an'  kickin'  him,  fust  wid 
one  foot,  an'  den  wid  t'other,  till  Dick  was  regular  daze. 


306  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

I  tole  him  to  ketch  George's  foot  an'  upset  him,  but  he  got 
so  boddered  he  never  knew  which  foot  was  comin',  an'  was 
pretty  nigh  whipped  when  Lawyer  Taylor  come  along, 
walkin'  up  from  de  river,  an'  lookin'  at  'em.  I  was  glad 
to  see  him,  'cause  I  thought  he  might  stop  de  fight.  I  saw 
de  Lastlan's  nigger  was  gwine  to  git  whipped,  an'  I  didn't 
like  dat.  When  Mr.  Taylor  got  in  'bout  twenty  feet  from 
'em,  an'  George  was  givin'  it  to  Dick,  an'  had  one  of  Dick's 
eyes  stopped  up,  Lawyer  Taylor  chawed  a  little  faster  on 
his  terbacker,  an'  den  straightened  hisself,  an'  drawed  back 
his  head  an'  fixed  his  lips  togedder,  an'  'ker  cherk,'  he  sent 
a  little  spirt  of  terbacker  juice  right  in  one  o'  George's 
eyes !"  Here  Charles  gave  way  to  hearty  laughter,  twisting 
about  in  grotesque  attitudes,  encumbered  by  the  crowbar 
and  the  sledge.  Eecovering  himself  he  continued :  "You 
better  believe  dat  ambeer  made  George  shet  up  dat  eye! 
He  tried  to  keep  t'other  one  open,  but  it  kep'  winkin'  an' 
blinkin'  spite  of  him ;  an'  Dick  saw  somepun  was  de  matter 
an'  pushed  in  to  him,  an'  was  'bout  to  give  it  to  him  good ; 
but  I  went  in  den  an'  took  em  apart.  Den  Lawyer  Taylor 
come  up  an'  tole  'em  to  make  friends,  an'  gimme  ninepence, 
an'  tole  me  to  get  us  all  a  dram,  an'  den  he  went  away." 
Here  Charles  again  indulged  himself  in  hearty  laughter. 
He  was  not  one  of  those  who  can  tell  a  humorous  story 
with  a  grave  face.  His  countenance  always  foreshadowed 
the  coming  fun,  and  now  gave  notice  of  something  yet 
to  come  that  to  his  simple  mind  seemed  especially  funny. 

"You  got  the  drams,  I  suppose?"  said  Russell. 

"Yas,  sir;  but  de  best  of  it  all  was" — here  he  wrestled 
with  a  rising  convulsion  of  laughter — "de  best  part  of  it 
was,  dat  Dick,  nor  George,  nor  none  of  'em  but  me,  knowed 
what  was  de  matter  wid  George's  eye;  an'  when  we  got 
de  drams,  an'  was  all  friendly,  George  said  he  believed  he 
would  'a'  got  de  better  of  Dick  if  he  hadn't  got  dat" — here 
he  broke  out  again  with  uncontrollable  laughter.  Once 
more  he  recovered  himself,  and  repeated,  "ef  he  hadn't  got 
dat" — falling  away  again  into  a  fresh  convulsion.  Then 
with  a  strong  effort,  making  such  gesticulation  as  was  pos 
sible  while  holding  the  crowbar,  and  at  last  letting  go  the 
sledge  and  throwing  the  crowbar  to  the  ground,  and  swing- 


The  Code  of  Honor  307 

ing  his  arms  wildly  abroad,  with  streaming  eyes  and  dis 
torted  face,  in  an  explosive  shriek  he  ended — "ef  he  hadn't 
got  dat  sour  bug  in  his  eye !"  following  this  with  a  loud, 
inarticulate  bray  like  the  neighing  of  a  wild  zebra.  Then 
seeing  Russell  shaking  with  laughter  at  this  grotesque  exhi 
bition,  he  recovered  himself,  and  wiping  his  face  with  his 
sleeve,  stood  eyeing  his  auditor  with  the  pleased  look  of  an 
actor  after  the  successful  exercise  of  his  art. 

Thornton  and  Stackpole  now  came  out  of  the  house,  and 
Charles  was  taking  up  the  sledge  and  the  crowbar  as  if 
about  to  go  away,  when  Thornton,  knowing  his  presence 
to  be  a  check  upon  Charles's  humor,  went  back  into  the 
house. 

Then  Russell,  essaying  again  to  draw  him  out,  asked  him 
what  news  there  was  in  the  Lastlands  neighborhood. 

"Well,  sir/'  he  answered,  "dere  ain't  no  news  dat  I've 
heerd.  'Tain't  here  like  it  is  in  town,  where  de  steamboats, 
an'  stages,  an'  mail  riders  is  all  de  time  bringin'  in  news 
from  de  whole  world.  Everything  keeps  mighty  quiet  out 
here  in  de  country.  But  dere  like  to  been  something  dat 
might  er  made  news,  over  at  Major  Tinsley's  dis  mornin'." 

"Ah!    What  was  that?"  said  Russell. 

"Dere  like  to  been  a  duel  over  dar,  sir."  (Whether  there 
was  any  intentional  satire  on  Charles's  part  this  chronicler 
does  not  know.) 

"A  duel!"  said  Russell,  glancing  at  Stackpole,  who 
winced  perceptibly.  And  then  in  the  most  interested  man 
ner  Russell  asked :  "Who  was  going  to  fight  the  duel  over 
at  Tinsley's  ?" 

"Me  an'  dat  big  ole  darky  of  his — his  head  man." 

"What !  That  big  old  fellow  that  seems  to  be  always  in 
such  a  hurry?" 

"Yas,  sir"  (with  a  laugh),  "dat's  him." 

"What  is  his  name?" 

"Well,  sir,  his  master  calls  him  Jim,  an'  de  little  niggers 
calls  him  Uncle  Jeems,  an'  he  calls  himself  Jeems  Jefferson 
Jones;  but  I  calls  him  Ole-vinegar-heels." 

"What  was  the  matter  between  you  and  him?" 

"Well,  sir,  you  see  dey  was  whitewashin'  over  dar,  when 
I  went  to  take  a  note  to  Major  Tinsley  from  Mars  Robert, 


308  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

to  ask  him  to  let  his  wagon  bring  out  some  blarstin'  powder 
from  town;  dey  was  whitewashin'  de  front  fence.  Dey 
whitewashes  everything  over  dar  now.  Dey  done  white 
washed  de  icehouse,  an'  all  de  outhouses,  smokehouse,  wood- 
house,  de  shed  over  de  well — dey  got  all  dem  over  dar  now. 
Everything  we  does  over  here  on  dis  Lastlan'  plantation  dey 
tries  to  do  over  dar.  But  one  thing  dey  can't  do,  an'  dat  is 
whitewash  like  us.  No,  sir ;  when  it  comes  to  whitewashin' 
dey  ain't  dar!  Mars  Robert  knows  everything  dats  in  de 
books,  an'  some  things  dat  ain't  in  no  books.  He  puts  some 
truck  from  de  doctor's  shop  in  our  whitewash  dat  makes  it 
a  soft  brownish  color  like  de  cabins  down  dar,  dat  Mars 
Robert  likes  better  dan  dat  shinin'  white.  An'  Major  Tins- 
ley  told  Ole-vinegar-heels  to  come  over  here  an'  look  at 
ours,  an'  see  ef  he  couldn't  make  his  like  dat,  an'  tole  him 
p'intedly  to  fine  out  what  we  put  in  ours.  Well,  he  come 
over,  an'  hardly  looked  at  ours,  let  alone  askin'  'bout  it,  an' 
went  back  an'  tole  his  master  dat  he  knowed  all  'bout  dat 
kine  o'  whitewashin',  an'  dat  he  could  make  it  better  'an 
ours.  An'  all  he  could  do  was  to  put  in  a  little  lampblack 
wid  de  lime,  an'  now  he's  got  everything  'bout  dat  place 
lookin'  like  it  was  jest  gwine  out  o'  mournin'.  Dat's  what 
his  master  tole  him,  when  I  went  up  where  de  Major  was 
lookin'  at  it;  an'  I  laughed!  You  better  believe  dat  made 
ole  Vinegar  mad!  He  looked  at  me  like  a  copperhead 
snake;  an'  when  his  master  went  in  to  write  an  answer  to 
Mars  Eobert,  de  ole  fellow  jest  r'ared  an'  pitched." 

"Did  he  want  to  fight  you?" 

"Yas,  sir;  talked  'bout  whippin'  me,  an'  said  he  was 
gwine  to  do  it  de  fust  good  chance.  But  I  laughed  at  dat, 
too,  an'  dat  made  him  still  madder ;  an'  he  raised  sand,  sir, 
I  tellyoul" 

''Why,  you  don't  suppose  he  thinks  himself  able  to  whip 
you,  do  you  ?" 

"Dere's  no  tellin',  sir ;  he's  a  mighty  conceity  nigger,  dat 
ole  Vinegar.  He  thinks  himself  much  of  a  man,  sir,  he  do 
indeed !  But  ef  I  couldn't  whip  him  wid  bof e  ban's  tied 
behin'  me,  jes'  by  kickin'  an'  buttin'  him,  I'd  beg  Mars 
Robert  to  sell  me  cheap  to  a  nigger  trader,  an'  lemme  go 
down  de  river.  Time  I'd  stave  my  brogans  in  his  ribs  a 


The  Code  of  Honor  309 

few  times,  he  wouldn't  think  hisself  such  a  man — he 
wouldn't  indeed,  sir  I" 

"What  about  the  butting?" 

"Well,  sir/'  looking  serious,  "I  wouldn't  butt  him  ef  I 
could  do  widout;  but  ef  I  had  to  butt  him — de  Lord  save 
you!  When  I  got  dis"  (pointing  to  his  head)  "at  him, 
right  between  de  eyes,  he'd  think  lightnin'  done  struck  him 
sho — he  would  indeed !" 

Then  Eussell,  recurring  to  the  fight  in  town,  said :  "And 
you  say  that  little  Dick  speaks  French  now,  since  he  has 
been  to  New  Orleans?" 

"Yas,  sir !  He  makes  out  sometimes  dat  he  don't  speak 
nothin'  else ;  an'  -when  anybody  say  anything  to  him,  passin' 
en  an'  holler  back,  'No  pertandy.'  I  tole  him  t'other  day 
dat  ef  he  say  dat  to  me  ag'in  I  gwine  to  shake  him  outen 
his  clo'es,  an'  tell  everybody  how  Lawyer  Taylor  saved  him 
from  gittin'  whipped.  A  sassy  rascal !" 

Then  Thornton  coming  out  again,  and  seeing  the  laugh 
ing  faces  of  Russell  and  Stackpole,  and  inquiring  what 
amused  them,  Eussell,  keeping  back  the  story  of  the  fight 
ing  in  town,  told  him  of  the  impending  duel.  To  which 
Thornton  said :  "Ah,  Charles,  we  must  not  have  any  quar 
rels  with  our  neighbors.  You  know  the  quarrels  of  my 
people  are  apt  to  become  my  quarrels  before  the  end." 

"Yas,  Mars  Robert,  I  knows  dat,  sir,"  looking  up  with 
an  air  of  pride  at  his  master.  "Well,  sir,  ef  I  can't  keep 
him  off,  I'll  jest  tie  him  hand  an'  foot  an'  take  him  to  his 
master,  an'  ask  him  to  make  him  behave  hisself.  I'm  gwine 
to  the  hemphouse  now  an'  twist  a  piece  of  rope  an'  keep  it 
puppose  for  him." 

Then  shaking  his  head,  and  laughing  quietly  to  himself 
in  a  way  that  said  plainly  that  this  affair  with  old  Vinegar 
was  too  absolutely  ridiculous,  he  made  an  obeisance,  and 
taking  his  hat  from  the  ground,  and  throwing  the  sledge 
and  the  crowbar  over  his  shoulder,  walked  away. 


CHAPTER  XXX 


"He  who  freely  praises  what  he  means  to  purchase,  and 
he  who  enumerates  the  faults  of  what  he  means  to  sell,  may 
set  up  a  partnership  with  Honesty." 

THE  recurring  anniversary  of  Thornton's  removal  to  the 
country  was  near  at  hand,  and  now  looking  back  over  the 
past  he  felt  such  a  sense  of  satisfaction  as  inclined  him  to 
celebrate  it  by  some  form  of  festivity.  But  the  wife  looked 
serious,  and  said  no.  She  was  sensible  of  all  the  benefits 
of  the  removal  and  inspired  with  new  interest  in  all  the 
economical  expedients  adopted  by  Thornton,  and  she  had 
now  herself  developed  a  fine  administrative  faculty.  Long 
ago,  at  the  suggestion  of  Mrs.  Scudamore,  she  had  induced 
him  ^o  have  repaired,  at  The  Knoll,  weaving  machines  and 
spinning-wheels,  long  disused,  and  then,  that  no  hands 
capable  of  work  should  be  idle  at  Lastlands,  the  young 
negroes  had  been  mustered  and  organized,  the  boys  in  a 
large  room  at  the  quarter,  under  the  supervision  of  old 
Adam,  picking  wool,  and  the  girls,  with  clean  frocks  and 
clean  faces  and  carded  hair,  in  the  great  unfinished  draw 
ing-room,  under  the  eye  of  old  Rachel,  were  taught  to  spin 
yarn,  and  to  sew,  and  to  knit  stockings.  And  now  a  super 
numerary  ram,  of  those  sent  by  Dick  Thornton,  having 
been  exchanged  for  wool,  the  women  that  had  learned  to 
weave  at  Vaughn's  were  put  to  work  at  the  looms.  Soon 
Thornton  was  astonished  and  rejoiced  at  the  quantity  of 
woolen  material  produced.  It  was  not  long  until  he  found 
himself  clothed  in  well-fitting  garments,  from  material 
manufactured  at  home,  cut  after  an  old  suit  ripped  up  for 
that  purpose,  and  made  by  his  wife  and  one  of  her  best 
seamstresses.  With  a  glow  of  pleasure  and  pride  he  now 

310 


An  Arrival  from  France  311 

looked  forward  to  a  time  when  Lastlands  should  send 
abroad  for  nothing  that  could  not  be  had  by  an  exchange 
of  some  home  product.  But  when  Thornton  proposed  to 
celebrate  the  anniversary,  and  she  objected,  he  was  thinking 
of  the  wholesome  change  in  his  mode  of  life,  his  improved 
morale,  his  absolute  contentment,  the  defeat  of  the  claim 
for  which  his  slaves  had  been  held,  and  the  bright  prospect 
now  before  him,  while  she  thought  only  of  the  birth  of  her 
child;  a  sacred  thing  not  to  be  reckoned  among  temporal 
blessings,  but  a  divine  benefaction,  vouchsafed  to  her  pray 
ers  when  hope  had  been  well-nigh  abandoned;  bringing 
happiness  too  profound  to  be  expressed  in  festivity,  and 
only  contemplated  with  solemn  thankfulness  and  reveren 
tial  awe. 

In  many  respects  she  seemed  altered  and  improved  by 
this  event — made  more  sedate  and  earnest,  and  exhibiting 
not  only  a  fine  administrative  faculty,  but  other  capabili 
ties  new  and  unexpected.  One  day,  while  Stackpole  and 
Eussell  were  at  Lastlands,  sitting  in  quiet  talk  with  Thorn 
ton,  they  heard  from  the  family  apartments  a  woman's 
voice  singing  a  lullaby.  Struck  by  its  uncommon  sweetness 
and  power,  these  musical  connoisseurs  listened  with  ears 
erect,  while  the  strain  slowly  sank  into  a  low  murmur,  and 
then  ceased,  when  Stackpole  eagerly  asked:  "Who  is  that 
singing?"  Thornton,  who  from  the  first  note  had  keenly 
watched  their  faces,  answered :  "Who  do  you  suppose  ?" 
And  when  they  could  offer  no  conjecture,  only  Eussell  say 
ing,  "Not  Mrs.  Scudamore?"  Thornton  said:  "It  is  my 
wife." 

"Your  wife !"  exclaimed  Eussell.  "Why,  I  never  heard 
her  sing  before — I  didn't  know  that  she  could  sing !  And 
such  a  voice !" 

"I  did  not  know  it  either,  till  of  late.  She  never  sang 
for  me;  but  she  sings  now  for  her  baby  boy,  but  only  for 
him,  and  only  lullabies.  It  is  a  new  revelation.  It  is  the 
voice  of  maternity." 

The  agricultural  outlook  at  Lastlands  was  now  bright. 
The  hemp  sown  had  been  cut  and  stacked,  and  the  price 
having  advanced,  promised  to  be  highly  remunerative.  But 
Thornton,  possessed  of  a  desire  to  make  money^  meditated 


312  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

a  scheme  for  manufacturing  this  hemp  at  home,  and  to 
this  end  set  up  there  machinery  for  spinning  rope  and 
twine;  and,  if  this  should  prove  profitable,  also  machinery 
for  making  hempen  bagging.  He  had  before  this  corre 
sponded  on  this  subject  with  Stackpole,  then  at  Boston, 
and  had  received  from  him  the  fullest  information,  em 
bracing  drawings  of  the  most  improved  machinery,  with 
specifications  and  estimates  of  the  cost.  This  was  a  sum 
greater  than  he  could  then  command,  and  greater  than  he 
would  have  been  willing  to  hazard  on  an  uncertainty.  But 
this  did  not  deter  him  from  digesting  in  his  mind  the 
scheme  with  all  its  details.  The  machinery  for  spinning 
rope  and  twine,  more  simple  and  less  costly,  he  was  resolved 
to  have;  and  though  he  did  not  have  the  money  even  for 
this,  still  obstinately  declining,  except  for  purposes  directly 
in  the  interest  of  the  Lastlands  property  (as  in  completing 
the  cattle  barn  and  work  upon  the  mansion),  to  use  the 
fund  left  by  his  brother  in  the  hands  of  Mclntyre,  he  yet 
rehearsed  again  and  again  all  the  details  of  his  scheme, 
even  selecting  and  staking  off  the  site  for  the  structure. 
Long  before  he  had  repaired  an  old  building  near  the  new 
road,  to  be  used  as  an  office.  His  temperament  we  know 
was  in  a  high  degree  sanguine.  Whatever  he  desired  he 
vehemently  desired.  He  was  persistent,  too,  and  a  scheme 
once  conceived  and  approved  could  hardly  be  dislodged 
from  his  mind;  dwelling  on  his  purpose  and  pursuing  it 
with  that  zeal  and  constancy  which  often  seem  to  force  the 
hand  of  fate  itself. 

While  thus  absorbed  in  these  schemes  for  manufactures 
he  had  received  a  letter  from  his  brother  Dick,  then  at 
Lyons,  France,  in  which  he  was  informed  that  there  had 
been  that  day  shipped  to  him  by  way  of  New  Orleans  a  fine 
jackass,  which  Dick  thought  would  be  a  valuable  addition 
to  his  stock  of  breeding  animals.  Thornton  had  read  over 
more  than  once  the  paragraph  in  Dick's  letter  announcing 
this  shipment,  wondering  what  crude  notions  Dick  must 
have  of  his  plans  and  methods  at  Lastlands.  For  a  con 
siderable  time  he  kept  silent  about  this  letter,  unwilling 
to  expose  his  brother's  gross  misconception  of  these  meth- 
ofe,  in  imagining  that  a.  jackass  wqulef  be  a  proper  acces* 


An  Arrival  from  France  313 

sory  to  them  or  be  welcome  at  Lastlands.  A  half  dozen 
red  deer  would  have  been  acceptable,  but  a  jackass !  From 
anybody  but  Dick  he  would  have  regarded  the  letter  as  a 
practical  joke.  At  last,  one  morning  when  Major  Tinsley 
was  paying  his  accustomed  visit,  and  he  and  Thornton  sat 
on  the  veranda  in  the  sun  of  a  fine  December  day,  Thorn 
ton  informed  the  Major  of  Dick's  shipment  of  the  jack, 
expressing  his  astonishment,  and  protesting  that  he  would 
not  for  any  consideration  have  such  a  brute  within  his 
gates.  The  Major  was  much  diverted  by  Thornton's  dis 
gust,  and  disported  himself  for  some  time,  laughing  and 
descanting  upon  the  commercial  value  of  asses  and  mules, 
and  commending  the  practical  agricultural  views  of  his 
brother  Dick.  But  before  going  away  he  did  not  fail  to  let 
Thornton  know  that  he  was  not  insensible  to  the  incon 
gruity  of  Lastlands  with  a  jackass,  adding  that  the  animal 
might  prove  to  be  valuable,  as  mules  were  now  high  in  the 
market,  and  the  price  advancing;  and  that  at  all  events, 
being  an  imported  animal,  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in 
selling  him  for  a  good  price. 

Not  many  days  after  this  the  Major  came  again  to  Last- 
lands,  this  time  in  the  afternoon,  having  failed  to  appear 
there  in  the  morning.  Waving  his  hand  to  Thornton,  who 
had  just  come  out  upon  the  veranda,  and  saying  with  a 
smirk  on  his  face,  "I'll  hitch  my  horse,  and  join  you  in 
a  moment,"  he  rode  away  to  the  hitching  shed.  A  moment 
after,  when  they  met  outside  on  the  gravel  road,  the  Major 
said,  with  a  broad  smile :  "I  have  been  to  town ;  I  am  just 
from  there,  and  I  bring  you  good  news.  Your  jackass 
has  come." 

This  was  anything  but  good  news  to  Thornton,  if  he 
were  to  be  judged  by  the  countenance  with  which  it  was 
received;  for  he  now  wore  a  look  full  of  annoyance  and 
perplexity.  "He  is  safe  and  sound,  and  a  perfect  beauty/' 
continued  the  Major,  "the  finest  animal  of  his  kind  I  ever 
saw." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  he  is  the  best  of  his  kind,"  Thornton 
said,  with  a  lugubrious  grin,  "but  what  am  I  to  do  with 
him?  He  shall  never  put  foot  on  Lastlands,  J  cannqt; 


314  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

imagine  why  Dick  should  have  thought  that  I  would  desire 
such  a  brute." 

"Why,  my  dear  sir,  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  finding 
a  purchaser  at  a  high  figure.  He  is  a  magnificent  fellow, 
a  steel  gray,  with  a  mealy  nose  and  belly,  and  of  extraor 
dinary  size,  and  has  the  finest  ears  I  ever  saw  on  a  jack ! 
There  were  a  half  dozen  or  more  breeders  from  the  Blue- 
grass  looking  at  him  in  Booth's  warehouse,  where  he  is 
stabled.  He  was  greatly  admired  by  these  breeders,  and 
I  am  the  bearer  of  an  offer  from  one  of  them,  an  acquaint 
ance  of  yours,  he  said,  Mr.  John  White,  of  twelve  hundred 
dollars,  if  you  conclude  to  sell  him." 

"Twelve  hundred  dollars !"  exclaimed  Thornton.  "Why, 
do  you  know  that  Dick  bought  that  animal  in  the  streets 
of  Lyons,  where  he  was  working  in  a  cart,  for  four  hundred 
francs — about  eighty  dollars  !" 

"Is  it  possible  I"  exclaimed  the  Major,  astonished  in  his 
turn.  "But  there  is  the  cost  of  transportation,  and  the 
risk — anyhow,  that  is  his  value  here.  You  had  better  let 
your  brother  know  at  once  the  state  of  the  market  here, 
and  advise  him  to  make  another  considerable  shipment  of  a 
like  quality.  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  shall  be  glad  to  go 
in  and  sell  and  deliver  the  animal  to  White,  and  bring 
you  the  money." 

"You  are  very  kind,  but  I  must  go  in  myself,  and  let 
him  know  all  about  the  animal,  and  then  if  he  chooses  to 
buy  him  at  such  a  price,  he  can  have  him." 

"Bless  my  soul  I"  exclaimed  the  Major.  "Why,  John 
White  is  a  breeder  and  dealer  in  mules,  and  knows  all 
about  jacks  and  their  value.  Pray  don't  think  of  telling 
him  how  your  brother  came  by  the  jack,  or  what  he  cost, 
or  anything  except  that  he  came  from  France,  and  is  for 
sale  at  twelve  hundred  dollars.  I  must  say  you  have  strange 
notions  about  trading — sublimated  and  utterly  unpractical 
notions !  I  am  myself  a  judge  of  jacks,  and  I  told  White 
that  I  thought  him  the  finest  jack  I  had  ever  seen,  and 
worth  all  he  offers  for  him — perhaps  more.  You  are  not 
under  the  slightest  obligation  to  give  him  any  information 
more  than  he  now  has,  that  he  came  from  France.  Of  all 
the  rest  he  is  a  competent  judge.  I  think  I  see  in  this  busi-. 


An  Arrival  from  France  315 

ness,  if  managed  discreetly,  all  the  money  you  will  need 
for  your  manufactory,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  raise  up 
competitors  who  may  forestall  you  in  the  trade. 

"You  see,  I  have  been  an  extensive  trader  in  many 
branches,  and  I  know  the  shrewd  ways  of  the  fraternity; 
but  no  man  can  say  that  he  has  ever  mastered  all  of  them. 
When  I  thought  I  knew  them  all,  a  trader  in  horses  taught 
me  a  new  lesson.  He  came  to  my  house  to  sell  me  a  horse. 
I  saw  the  horse,  liked  him,  and  made  an  offer  for  him, 
which  he  declined.  I  wanted  the  horse,  and  was  inclined 
to  give  more  for  him  than  his  market  value;  for  a  riding 
horse  that  suits  you  is  often  worth  to  you  more  than  he 
will  bring  in  the  market.  But,  strange  to  say,  being  well 
known  throughout  my  neighborhood  as  a  good  trader,  and 
valuing  myself  upon  this  reputation,  I  was  now  willing 
to  suffer  personal  inconvenience  and  discomfort  rather  than 
risk  losing  my  reputation  by  paying  an  undue  price  for 
the  horse.  Nothing  makes  a  trading  man  conservative  like 
a  reputation.  He  grows  cautious  in  trade,  as  a  general 
grows  cautious  about  delivering  battle,  lest  he  lose  in  one 
engagement  what  he  has  gained  in  many.  Or  he  is  like  a 
politician  with  his  record.  Some  of  these  I  have  known 
so  strapped  and  hampered  by  this,  that  they  couldn't  vote 
on  a  general  resolution  without  going  through  a  sweat. 
Well,  I  knew  the  horse,  and  wanted  him,  but  my  reputation 
as  a  trader  stood  in  the  way.  I  had  a  good  name  also  for 
fair  dealing,  and,  to  be  candid" — here  he  chuckled — "I  am 
not  sure  that  I  would  not  rather  have  forfeited  this  than 
my  reputation  for  sagacity.  Among  those  on  whose  opin 
ion  my  reputation  depended  this  last  was  a  long  way  held 
in  greater  estimation.  Well,  I  had  offered  all  I  intended 
to  give,  and  this  being  declined,  and  the  bargaining  at  an 
end,  I  said:  'Come  in  and  take  a  glass  of  whisky.  We 
can  agree  in  that  if  we  can't  agree  upon  a  trade.'  And 
then  we  took  a  glass  of  whisky.  After  a  while  he  said :  'If 
you  haven't  changed  your  mind,  I  will  take  your  offer  for 
the  horse.'  I  then  bought  him  without  forfeiting  my  repu 
tation  as  a  good  trader — as  I  thought.  But  on  going  away, 
he  said  to  me :  'I  have  always  heard  you  called  a  good 
trader,  but  you  did  one  thing  to-day  that  a  good  trader 


316  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

never  does.'  'What  is  that?'  I  asked.  'Well,  a  good  trader 
never  asks  a  man  to  drink  when  he  wants  to  buy  anything 
from  him.  Drink  makes  a  man  feel  rich,  and  not  inclined 
to  sell,  but  to  buy.  But  want  of  a  drink  makes  him  feel 
poor  and  ready  to  sell.  If  you  had  been  about  selling  to 
me,  it  would  have  been  all  right.' 

"I  told  him  that  I  had  never  considered  drink  as  a  factor 
in  the  trade,  and  that  in  this  case  I  had  considered  the 
bargaining  at  an  end.  But  there  is  much  truth  in  what 
he  said,  and  it  shows  the  keen  observation  of  these  pro 
fessionals." 

"But,"  said  Thornton,  arresting  the  Major's  career  in 
telling  stories  of  trading,  upon  which  he  was  apt  to  run 
away  whenever  the  subject  was  broached,  "White  is  not  a 
trader,  in  the  invidious  sense,  and  is,  withal,  an  honorable 
gentleman." 

"Well,  now,"  interrupted  the  Major,  "I  am  not  going 
to  say  anything  against  him.  But  do  you  know  that  these 
gentlemen  traders,  like  gentlemen  gamblers,  are  often  the 
most  dangerous  of  their  tribe?  They  are  like  the  politi 
cians.  They  don't  think  their  private  character  involved 
in  their  professional  transactions.  Why,  even  the  preach 
ers — did  you  ever  have  a  horse-trade  with  a  preacher,  a 
Methodist  circuit  rider,  for  instance?  No,  I  know  you 
never  did,  or  you  would  have  cut  your  eye-teeth,  and  known 
more  than  you  do  now.  I  was  once — but  then  I  did  the 
business  for  myself — I  was  traveling  once,  riding  a  very 
unsatisfactory  horse,  and  had  dismounted,  just  at  dusk, 
at  a  tavern,  and  was  letting  my  horse  drink  at  the  trough, 
when  I  heard  in  the  stillness  of  the  evening  the  footsteps 
of  a  horse  coming  over  the  road,  in  a  walk.  His  step  was 
brisk,  and  regular  as  clockwork,  the  step  of  a  first-class, 
flat-footed  walking  horse,  which  was  just  what  I  wanted. 
Soon  he  made  his  appearance,  marching,  with  high  head 
and  ears  pricked,  up  to  the  water  trough  where  I  stood. 
I  saluted  the  rider,  and  then  walked  behind  his  horse  while 
he  drank,  and  saw,  even  in  the  imperfect  light,  that  he 
was  a  horse  of  great  power,  and  then  suggested  a  swap. 
Then,  while  the  stranger  examined  my  horse,  which  was 
a  good  one  in  all  respgcts  except  for  the  saddle,  I  put  my 


An  Arrival  from  Trance  317 

finger  into  the  strange  horse's  mouth,  and  finding  that  he 
was  young,  felt  much  inclined  for  a  trade.  The  stranger 
asked  me  large  boot,  which  I  gave,  and  became  the  owner 
of  a  splendid,  powerful,  flat-footed  walker,  a  blood  bay — 
stone  blind!  No  wonder  I  heard  his  step  so  plainly.  He 
lifted  his  feet  a  foot  high  at  every  step !  The  stranger  went 
away  before  I  was  up  next  morning,  but  I  learned  from  the 
tavern  keeper  that  he  was  a  circuit  rider.  I  had  nobody 
to  blame  but  myself." 

Here  Thornton  again  interposed  to  assure  the  Major 
that  he  knew  White  well,  and  that  he  was  incapable  of  any 
of  the  sharp  practices  of  these  professional  traders.  "More 
over,"  he  said,  "he  stands  in  friendly  relation  to  me,  and 
most  likely  made  this  large  offer  thinking  that  Dick  would 
not  have  been  at  the  pains  of  sending  so  far  any  animal  but 
one  known  to  be  of  an  approved  breed;  and  relied,  in  a 
measure,  upon  my  character,  and  that  of  Dick,  for  the 
value  of  the  animal.  Nothing  would  induce  me  to  allow 
him  to  consummate  this  bargain  without  knowing  all  the 
facts." 

"Well,  of  course,  you  will  do  as  you  think  right.  I  don't 
know  enough  of  White  to  form  an  opinion,  but  I  am  sus 
picious  of  all  these  traders.  My  belief  is  that  when  he 
knows  all  the  facts  he  will  decline  the  trade.  And  then 
you  may  fall  into  the  hands  of  other  sharp  fellows  with 
whom  you  are  not  competent  to  deal.  By  the  way,  if  you 
don't  forbid  me — I  left  a  little  business  in  town — I  will 
go  in  with  you  to-morrow  myself." 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to  have  your  company." 

"You  must  not  think  me  too  suspicious.  I  know  there 
are  many  highly  honorable  men  even  in  the  horse  trade. 
I  claim  to  have  been  such  a  man  myself,  when  I  was  en 
gaged  in  it.  I  don't  think  trade  incompatible  with  gentility, 
as  one  of  our  neighbors,  Judge  Ormsby,  seems  to  think. 
When  I  first  came  here,  and  had  bought  land,  seeing  the 
great  number  of  cattle  in  his  pastures,  I  rode  in  there  one 
day  to  know  if  I  could  not  buy  some  of  them.  The  Judge 
was  very  polite,  but  when  I  told  him  the  purpose  of  my 
visit  he  drew  himself  up,  and  said  I  'might  see  his  over 
seer.'  He  thought,  I  suppose,  that  I  had  come  to  see  his 


318  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

park  of  deer  and  elks,  and  his  buffalo.  I  heard  afterward 
that  he  had  said,  without  naming  me,  that  he  thought  that 
'for  a  gentleman  to  call  on  his  neighbor  and  propose  to 
buy  what  he  had  not  offered  for  sale,  was  a  very  impolite 
thing,  to  say  the  least  of  it !' 

"Why,  when  I  lived  in  a  trading  community,  nothing 
pleased  me  more  than  to  have  one  of  my  neighbors  come 
over  for  a  trade.  I  welcomed  him  as  Roderick  Dhu  did 
FitzJames,  that  night  he  stumbled  on  his  campfire.  But 
I  must  ride ;  I  have  not  been  home  yet."  And  then  having 
briefly  explained  his  own  code  of  ethics  in  trade,  which 
left  in  full  play  the  maxim  of  the  law  Caveat  emptor,  "the 
buyer  must  look  out  for  himself,"  and  promising  to  accom 
pany  Thornton  to  town,  the  Major  went  away. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

BARBARA'S  WRATH 

"Dame  Fortune,  some  men's  tutelar, 
Takes  charge  of  them  without  their  care — 
Does  all  their  drudgery  and  work, 
Like  fairies,  for  them  in  the  dark." 

THORNTON'S  friends  at  The  Falls  looked  with  great  in 
terest  upon  his  venture  in  planting.  The  business  was 
not  then  profitable.  The  enormous  productiveness  of  the 
new  lands  now  rapidly  opened  by  throngs  of  active,  eager 
settlers,  threw  upon  the  markets  a  glut  of  agricultural 
products.  Some  readers  may  recall  the  time  when  barreled 
pork  was  so  cheap  in  New  Orleans  that  it  was  used  on  the 
steamboats  for  fuel,  being  more  economical  than  the  wood 
along  the  river  shore;  and  when,  in  some  localities,  fuel 
was  made  also  of  Indian  corn.  Thornton  had  prepared  to 
engage  largely  in  the  cultivation  of  hemp,  which,  after 
having  sunk  to  a  low  price,  was  now  rising  in  value,  and, 
from  the  rapid  increase  in  the '  culture  of  cotton  in  the 
South,  presaging  an  increased  demand  for  cordage  and 
bagging,  now  promised  to  be  profitable.  But  his  friends 
did  not  share  his  sanguine  expectation.  Especially  was 
this  true  of  Mclntyre,  whose  Scotch  caution  made  him  dis 
count  liberally  all  his  friend's  hopeful  calculations.  Mcln 
tyre  was  distrustful,  too,  of  Thornton's  management.  Edu 
cated  abroad,  where  a  day's  labor  meant  a  great  deal  more 
than  it  did  on  a  Kentucky  plantation,  he  distrusted  the 
result  of  the  mild  sway  of  the  master,  whose  system  seemed 
to  him  loose  and  unthrifty.  He  had  often  urged  Thornton 
to  employ  an  energetic  manager  to  direct  the  labor  and 
keep  it  up  to  the  highest  degree  of  efficiency.  But  Thorn 
ton's  father  had  never  had  an  overseer,  and  there  was  a 

319 


320  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

prejudice  in  the  mind  of  Thornton  against  putting  any  au 
thority  save  his  own  over  his  slaves.  But  he  gave  way  to 
the  solicitations  of  Melntyre,  backed  by  other  friends,  and 
at  last  advertised  for  a  manager.  Soon  after — on  the  day 
Major  Tinsley  had  informed  Thornton  of  the  arrival  of 
the  jackass — a  Mr.  Fillson  presented  himself  at  Lastlands 
with  general  letters  of  recommendation  from  Virginia 
planters,  some  of  whom  were  known  by  reputation  to 
Thornton,  and  a  note  from  Mclntyre,  who  had  discovered 
him. 

Fillson  was  a  man  of  some  forty  years  of  age,  meager  in 
form,  but  wiry,  of  a  clear  olive  complexion,  with  gray  eyes 
and  brown  hair  streaked  with  gray,  clear-cut  features,  a 
strong  perpendicular  chin,  even  white  teeth,  visible  always 
as  he  spoke,  and  fitted  together  like  the  edges  of  tweezers. 
Composure  and  inflexible  firmness  were  apparent  in  his  lin 
eaments,  and  in  his  deliberate  manner ;  a  man  seeming  not 
incapable  of  emotion,  but  never  likely  to  come  under  its 
dominion.  He  was  dressed  in  well-fitting  garments  of  the 
best  drab  homespun  cloth,  and  wore  leather  gloves  and  fair- 
top  boots,  and  carried  a  heavy,  loaded  riding-whip.  His 
manners  were  easy  and  polite,  marked  by  just  confidence, 
which  came  of  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  business  he 
proposed  to  undertake.  He  impressed  Thornton  at  once 
very  favorably.  He  engaged  him,  and  the  next  day,  after 
having  notified  the  slaves  that  they  were  to  obey  the  orders 
and  directions  of  Mr.  Fillson  as  if  given  by  himself,  he 
went  into  town  to  look  after  the  French  jackass,  leaving 
Fillson  in  charge. 

All  the  knowledge  Fillson  had  of  the  affairs  of  Lastlands 
had  been  derived  from  Mclntyre,  who  had  represented  the 
management  there  as  loose  in  the  extreme,  and  the  negroes 
as  an  undisciplined  band  of  indulged  and  petted  slaves, 
whose  labor  did  little  more  than  provide  for  their  food  and 
raiment.  He  had  urged  Fillson  to  inaugurate  at  once  a 
new  system,  and  by  vigorous  action  and  discipline  to  bring 
the  plantation  into  a  thrifty  condition.  With  these  ideas 
impressed  upon  his  mind,  and  with  a  desire  to  distinguish 
himself  by  a  wholesome  revolution  in  a  place  so  conspicu 
ous  as  Lastlands,  Fillson  entered  upon  his  work. 


Barbara's  Wrath  •  321 

An  event  occurred  now  which,  on  account  of  its  imme 
diate  result,  terminating  suddenly  Fillson's  employment  at 
Lastlands,  and  because  of  the  lasting  impression  it  made 
on  all  the  dwellers  there,  must  be  related,  yet  about  the 
details  of  which  this  chronicler  has  been  able  to  gather  only 
scanty  facts  and  vague  hints  and  intimations.  It  seems 
that  Fillson,  thinking  it  best  to  begin  his  administration 
with  an  exposition  to  the  slaves  of  the  kind  of  rule  they 
had  come  under — a  rule  just  but  inexorably  strict — had 
given  notice  that  they  should  all  assemble  early  in  the 
morning  to  hear  him  lay  down  the  new  law,  and  assign  to 
them  their  various  fields  of  labor.  Of  course,  the  house 
hold  servants  were  excepted  from  this,  they  being  out  of 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  overseer;  and  the  reader  may  re 
member  that  Charles  Fetter  was  engaged  only  in  special 
work,  in  the  quarry  and  the  saw-pit,  and  in  cutting  timber. 
He  had  for  years  labored  exclusively  in  these  fields,  and 
his  work  was  considered,  on  all  hands,  as  completely  a  spe 
cialty  under  the  eye  of  his  master  as  that  of  Thornton's 
body-servant  and  personal  factotum,  old  Tom  Strother. 
Wherefore,  Charles  did  not  go  to  the  assembly  ordered  by 
the  overseer,  and  was  immediately  arraigned  for  disobe 
dience.  Thornton  should  have  notified  Fillson  of  the  excep 
tional  position  of  Charles,  but  he  had  not  thought  to  do 
this,  and  the  overseer,  misled  by  the  representation  of 
Mclntyre,  saw  nothing  in  the  case  but  an  act  of  deliberate 
disobedience,  to  be  summarily  punished.  It  was  a  new  and 
trying  position  for  Charles,  loyal  and  faithful  and  dutiful, 
to  be  thus  arraigned.  Surprise  and  embarrassment  pre 
vented  him  from  making  as  clear  as  might  have  been  his 
defense,  by  explaining  his  peculiar  relation  to  the  work  of 
the  plantation.  On  Fillson's  part,  he  misinterpreted  the 
bearing  of  Charles,  when  arraigned,  mistaking  his  simple, 
dignified  politeness  for  "airs."  The  consequence  of  all 
which  was  that  Fillson,  not  sorry  to  have  an  opportunity 
to  begin  his  administration  with  an  example  of  strict  dis 
cipline  in  the  person  of  one  he  knew  to  be  in  some  way 
prominent  among  the  slaves,  at  once  announced  his  deter 
mination  to  punish  this  act  of  disobedience  by  flogging. 
This  was  an  unutterable  mortification  to  Charles,  and  a 


322  A 'Kentucky  Chronicle 

shock  to  all  the  slaves.  To  make  the  example  more  effective, 
some  dozen  of  these  were  summoned  to  witness  the  pun 
ishment. 

Meanwhile,  nothing  of  this  was  known  at  the  "great 
house"  until  the  preparation  had  been  all  made,  when  the 
housekeeper  came  in  a  state  of  great  agitation,  to  give  no 
tice  of  it  there.  It  happened  that  Barbara,  about  to  go 
out  to  ride,  her  mare  at  the  door,  intercepted  the  house 
keeper,  and  hearing  the  story  of  Charles's  trouble,  quickly 
ordered  her  not  to  mention  the  matter  to  anyone  else,  say 
ing,  "I  will  attend  to  it,"  and  hastening  from  the  house, 
she  sprang  into  the  saddle,  and  in  a  moment  was  flying 
to  the  quarter.  There  Fillson  stood,  lash  in  hand,  the  wit 
nesses  in  line,  and  Charles  before  him.  Having  vainly 
offered  such  plea  for  his  seeming  disobedience  as  his  agi 
tated  state  of  mind  permitted,  Charles  stood  ready  to 
submit  to  punishment.  No  thought  of  rebellion  against 
what  he  considered  his  master's  will  arose  in  his  simple, 
loyal  mind.  He  was  taking  off  his  coat,  in  obedience  to  the 
order  of  Fillson,  with  no  craven  line  in  his  face,  but  only 
grief;  a  figure  suggestive  of  the  poet's  presentment  of  the 
genius  of  his  hapless  land: 

"Swart  Africa  in  dusky  aspect  towered, 
The  fetters  on  her  hand." 

At  this  moment,  like  an  angel  of  light,  Barbara  came 
upon  the  scene ;  took  from  the  unresisting  hand  of  Fillson 
the  lash;  ordered  Charles  to  go  at  once  to  the  "great  house," 
there  to  await  her  coming,  and  soon  after  mounted  her  mare 
and  followed  him,  leaving  the  manager  and  the  attending 
witnesses  in  a  state  of  mute  bewilderment.  What  other 
words  she  spoke,  if  any,  no  one  remembered.  Long  after 
it  was  said  by  one  of  the  blacks,  a  witness  of  the  scene 
speaking  with  bated  breath,  that  "Miss  Barbara  cussed." 
And  this  was  for  some  time  a  standing  joke  of  the  house 
hold  against  her.  But  she  could  never  recall  her  words, 
nor  conjecture  what  she  might  have  said  that  could  be 
interpreted  as  cursing.  Most  of  the  witnesses  said  that 
they  did  not  hear  anything,  nor  see  anything— "only  Miss 
Barbara's  eyes."  And  Fillson,  speaking  of  it  afterward, 


Barbara's  Wrath  323 


said,  with  a  strange,  sickly  laugh,  the  same  thing.  Some 
potent  words  she  doubtless  spoke,  irrecoverable  now  as  the 
songs  of -the  sirens. 

Meanwhile,  Thornton  was  with  Major  Tinsley  in  town, 
where,  unconscious  of  the  revolution  at  Lastlands,  he  re 
ceived  the  congratulations  of  Mclntyre  upon  his  change  of 
method  at  the  plantation. 

Mr.  White,  having  seen  Dick  Thornton's  letter,  still  ad 
hered  to  his  offer,  paying  Thornton  twelve  hundred  dollars, 
telling  him  that  he  had  already  been  offered  an  advance  for 
his  bargain,  and  seconding  Major  Tinsley's  advice,  that  he 
should  say  nothing  about  his  plans,  but  write  at  once  to 
his  brother,  acquainting  him  with  the  sale,  and  advising 
him  to  make  another  shipment  of  at  least  a  dozen  jackasses, 
assuring  him  that  a  ready  market  would  be  found  for  them, 
at  even  higher  prices. 

There  were  now  many  Bluegrass  men  in  the  town,  most 
of  whom  came  to  attend  a  meeting  of  the  Kentucky  Silver 
Mining  Company ;  and  more  than  one  of  these  interviewed 
Thornton  about  the  French  jackass.  Major  Tinsley  kept 
himself  close  by,  "on  thorns,"  lest  Thornton  should  reveal 
something  to  his  own  disadvantage;  often  giving  him  a  cau 
tionary  nudge,  when  the  inquiry  was  too  pointed,  and  some 
times  answering  in  Thornton's  stead:  and  thus  all  went 
well. 

In  his  prosperous  days,  when  the  stock  was  at  a  low  ebb, 
Thornton  had  invested  largely  in  the  Kentucky  Silver 
Mining  Company.  This  was  one  of  the  very  few  things  he 
had  then  touched  that  did  not  turn  into  gold.  Opportuni 
ties  to  sell,  at  a  price  that  would  have  made  him  whole, 
had  offered,  but  he  had  declined  to  avail  himself  of  them. 
Now,  since  the  simple,  regular,  busy  life  at  Lastlands  had 
sobered  his  mind,  he  looked  back  upon  this  venture  as  a 
foolish — nay,  a  wicked — outlay,  akin  to  gambling.  And  he 
regarded  in  the  same  way  even  his  past  fortunate  specula 
tions  ;  for  while  these  had  brought  him  money,  it  had 
proved  like  fairy  money,  which  glistens  under  the  glamour 
of  the  moon,  but  in  the  light  of  the  morning  turns  to  dry 
leaves  and  rubbish.  Wherefore,  when  Ould,  who  was  still 
a  zealous  and  sanguine  member  of  the  company,  told  him 


324  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

that  its  prospects  were  now  very  bright,  he  paid  little  re 
gard  to  it.  "Another  mare's  nest,  I  suppose,"  he  said. 

"It  may  turn  out  so,"  said  Ould,  "but  our  men  write 
most  encouraging  letters,  and  a  committee  is  now  here 
with  specimens  of  ore  obtained  in  one  of  their  late  explora 
tions,  and  we  are  about  to  make  a  test  of  these/'* 

"Well,  before  you  make  any  test,  I  want  it  made  known 
that  my  stock  is  for  sale  at  cost  and  interest." 

"I  think  that  you  will  readily  find  a  purchaser.  Back- 
step  is  in  a  fever  about  the  company,  and  wrote,  a  week 
ago,  to  Walter  to  buy  any  stock  he  might  find  at  forty  cents 
on  the  par  value,  which  would  about  meet  your  terms.  You 
know  how  I  dislike  to  advise  about  money  matters,  but  I 
tell  you  no  man  can  buy  my  stock,  now,  at  anything  like 
that  rate.  If  you  are  resolved  to  sell,  you  had  better  leave 
a  power  of  attorney  with  Digby,  and  allow  him  to  exercise 
his  discretion.  There  is  always  a  ferment' when  the  mem 
bers  come  together,  and  the  stock  will  be  sure  to  rise  while 
they  are  assembled  here.  And  depend  upon  it,  Backstep 
has  some  grounds  to  go  upon  when  he  makes  an  offer 
like  that." 

"I  don't  care  what  ground  he  may  have.  I  have  known 
him  to  be  sanguine  before.  But  at  all  events,  I  want  to  sell. 
I  desire  to  disconnect  myself  with  all  speculative  ventures. 
Besides,  I  have  a  scheme  in  hand  at  Lastlands  which  the 
money  from  this  stock  may  enable  me  to  accomplish.  I 
shall  take  your  advice,  and  leave  authority  with  Digby  to 
sell.  I  hope  it  may  make  the  purchaser  as  rich  as  he  de 
sires  to  be,  if  such  a  thing  be  possible  to  the  speculating 
mortal." 

Then  Thornton  wrote  to  Dick  about  the  jackass  market, 
and  signed  a  power  of  attorney  authorizing  Mr.  John 
Digby  to  sell  his  stock  in  the  Kentucky  Silver  Mining  Com 
pany,  and  then  with  Major  Tinsley  returned  to  Lastlands. 
There  he  had  an  interview  with  Fillson,  whom  he  found 
*  As  it  is  the  design  of  this  chronicler  that  as  little  as  possible 
of  what  may  be  found  elsewhere  shall  be  put  into  this  book, 
readers  who  may.be  curious  to  know  more  of  the  Kentucky  Sil 
ver  Mining  Company  are  referred  to  printed  annals  of  the  State. 
A  full  account  of  its  transactions,  by  some  member  of  the  com 
pany,  would  be  an  interesting  episode  in  Kentucky  History. 


Barbara's  Wrath  325 

functus  officio,  and  desiring  to  be  released  from  his  en 
gagement.  "I  can  be  of  no  service  to  you,"  he  said.  "The 
authority  of  an  overseer  once  successfully  interfered  with 
or  resisted  is  gone.  I  could  possibly  recover  it  if  you  de 
sire  that,  but  my  methods  would  not  suit  you.  If  I  had 
known  more  of  your  household  I  would  not  have  under 
taken  to  manage  for  you.  I  have  no  hard  feeling  about 
what  has  happened,  but  the  highest  respect  for  all  con 
cerned."  Thornton  gladly  released  him,  and  having  once, 
for  a  short  time,  entrusted  the  management  to  old  Tom 
Strother,  whom  he  found  to  be  an  unmerciful  driver,  he 
resolved  never  again  to  delegate  his  authority  over  his  slaves 
to  any  man. 

Many  members  of  the  K.  S.  M.  C.  had  now  come  to  The 
Falls :  Wilson  and  Bradshaw  from  Shelbyville,  half  a  dozen 
Johnsons  from  Lexington,  and  others  from  the  Bluegrass 
generally,  and  a  very  large  delegation  from  different  quar 
ters  was  soon  assembled  there.  Tom  Long  told  Digby  that 
meetings  were  held  nightly  in  Quid's  office.  Pretty  soon  it 
came  to  be  understood  that  some  tests  were  making  there, 
conducted  with  great  secrecy,  but  under  pretext  of  requir 
ing  more  space  they  had  that  very  day  asked  Mr.  Jack 
Taylor  to  give  them  his  room.  Though  this  interrupted 
the  regular  course  of  Mr.  Taylor's  daily  life,  he  had  po 
litely  complied  with  their  request,  betaking  himself  for  the 
time  to  the  quarters  of  Mr.  Russell,  where  he  was  indus 
triously  plied  by  that  gentleman  with  questions  about  the 
proceedings  at  Quid's  office,  and  where  the  talk  of  Mr. 
Eussell  was  in  such  a  diverting  vein  as  to  amuse  Mr.  Tay 
lor,  and  put  upon  his  placid  face  a  broader  smile  than 
common.  As  for  Russell,  he  kept  studiously  away  from 
Quid's  office,  and  aloof  from  all  the  members  of  the  K.  S. 
M.  C.  These  gentlemen,  after  a  few  days,  seeing  Mr. 
Taylor  always  occupied  in  reading  novels  or  in  meditation, 
and  thinking  him  unobservant,  no  longer  put  him  to  the 
inconvenience  of  surrendering  to  them  his  room,  and  he 
returned  to  his  usual  routine. 

A  vessel  containing  the  ore  and  a  solvent  was  usually 
locked  in  a  closet  in  Quid's  office,  but  was  often  brought 
out  for  exhibition  to  curious,  excited  members.  One  day 


326  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

it  was  carelessly  left  out,  and  Mr.  Taylor,  on  rising  from 
his  lounge  and  walking  into  the  back  office,  found  the 
precious  vessel  standing  on  a  table  before  him.  After 
gazing  at  it  for  a  full  minute,  he  walked  within  two  feet 
of  the  table,  and  putting  his  hands  deep  into  his  trousers' 
pocket,  and  craning  over  the  vessel,  looked  curiously  into 
its  depths.  Then  the  muscles  of  his  face  became  agitated, 
his  mouth  spread,  his  chest  began  to  heave,  an  unearthly 
light  shone  in  his  eyes,  and  he  seemed  on  the  point  of 
having  another  fit  of  that  terrible  laughter.  But  gradually 
his  face  resumed  its  normal  expression,  and  he  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  silver  eighteen-pence  piece,  which  he  held  sus 
pended  for  a  moment,  and  then  let  drop  into  the  wide- 
mouthed  vessel,  where  it  sank  into  a  yellow,  chalky  mix 
ture.  And  then  he  walked  away  and  out  of  the  office. 

At  this  time  Digby  had  a  guest  at  his  house,  Mr.  George 
Woolfolk,  who  lived  at  the  mouth  of  the  Tennessee  river, 
and  the  affairs  of  the  K.  S.  M.  C.  coming  up  in  their  talk, 
Mr.  Woolfolk  said: 

"A  short  time  ago  I  had  a  visit  from  an  old  friend,  Brad- 
shaw  of  Shelby.  He  had  some  business  in  my  county, 
and  was  my  guest  for  several  days.  Knowing  that  he 
was  a  member  of  the  K.  S.  M.  C.,  I  asked  him  about  their 
prospects.  They  were  not  very  bright  at  that  time,  but 
he  warmed  as  he  talked  about  the  company,  and  expressed 
full  faith  in  the  existence  of  Swift's  mine,  and  thought 
its  locality  would  sooner  or  later  be  fixed.  But  he  com 
plained  of  a  want  of  zeal  among  the  members  generally, 
the  whole  labor  being  thrown  upon  a  few  active  men,  of 
whom  he  was  one.  Bradshaw  has  little  knowledge  of 
mineralogy — the  merest  smattering — but  he  has  an  intense 
appetite  for  "specimens,"  and  in  our  walks  was  constantly 
picking  up  and  examining  fragments  of  stones  and  peb 
bles.  About  the  mouth  of  the  Tennessee  there  is  a  peculiar 
coarse  gravel,  very  heavy,  and  containing  particles  of  yellow 
matter  that  shines  with  metallic  lustre.  As  we  walked 
along  the  shore  there,  I  saw  him  picking  up  this  gravel, 
and  scrutinizing  it,  and  slyly  putting  specimens  into  his 
pocket.  I  said  nothing,  pretending  not  to  observe  him, 


Barbara's  Wrath  327 

and  when  he  got  back  to  my  house  he  had  a  pretty  heavy 
load  of  them. 

"That  night,  after  he  had  gone  to  his  chamber  and  was 
in  bed,  as  I  supposed,  I  heard  him  repeatedly  coughing, 
and  thinking  that  perhaps  he  had  not  sufficient  bed-cloth 
ing,  I  went  to  his  chamber,  where  I  found  him  sitting  be 
fore  a  hot  fire,  roasting  the  gravel,  a  volume  of  blue  flame 
filling  the  fireplace,  and  fumes  of  sulphur  pervading  the 
room.  He  looked  quite  embarrassed,  and  stammered  some 
thing  about  being  curious  to  know  what  elements  the 
gravel  contained,  etc.  I  told  him  that  he  was  not  the  first 
man  whose  curiosity  had  been  excited  by  that  gravel,  but 
that  it  contained  no  mineral  of  value,  only  sulphur.  Then 
I  opened  the  window,  letting  out  the  fumes  of  sulphur 
from  the  room;  and  then,  feeling  inclined  to  a  little  mis 
chief,  I  gave  him  an  account  of  a  supposed  silver  mine 
in  our  region,  for  we  too  have  our  mining  traditions. 

"We  have  no  documentary  proofs,  as  the  K.  S.  M.  C. 
claim  to  have,  but  only  stories  of  old  hunters  coming  down 
the  Tennessee,  out  of  the  wilds,  with  bars  of  silver,  and 
loading  their  canoes  with  supplies  bought  with  this  bullion, 
and  of  these  hunters  having  been  found  in  extremity,  with 
their  pouches  filled  with  silver  bullets  for  their  rifles. 
There  had  never  been  any  organized  effort  made  to  discover 
this  mine,  but  many  persons,  having  their  imaginations  in 
flamed  by  these  stories,  had  for  years  made  diligent  search 
for  it.  The  fever  has  subsided  now,  but  there  are  among 
my  neighbors  men  in  whose  breasts  the  fire  still  smoulders, 
needing  only  a  breath  to  blow  it  into  flame;  for  it  is  a  fire 
that  once  kindled  never  goes  entirely  out  while  life  lasts. 

"As  to  the  locality  of  this  mine,  I  professed  to  have  ob 
tained  much  special  information,  and  told  Bradshaw  of 
many  circumstances  and  incidents,  like  those  I  have  re 
lated,  exactly  suited  to  spur  the  zeal  of  a  searcher  for 
precious  minerals.  He  was  greatly  excited,  and,  in  return, 
gave  me,  in  strict  confidence,  an  account  of  the  doings  of 
his  company,  and  of  its  prospects,  which  he  now  represented 
as  in  the  highest  degree  hopeful,  and  only  requiring  ener 
getic  action  to  insure  fortunes  for  all  its  members.  Then 
he  proposed  that  I  should  authorize  him  to  move  his  com- 


328  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

pany  to  permit  me  to  incorporate  my  interest  with  theirs, 
and  join  our  forces  to  discover  this  mine  also,  conceding  me 
a  very  large  interest  in  the  joint  concern.  This  I  declined, 
telling  him  that  I  had  such  definite  information  as  gave 
me  the  strongest  assurance  of  being  able  to  discover  this 
mine;  that  I  meant  to  set  about  it  at  once,  and  that  I  could 
not  even  consider  the  proposition  to  barter  my  interest  for 
anything  merely  problematical.  He  was  now  greatly  worked 
up.  Then  I  addressed  him  in  a  solemn  way.  'Bradshaw,' 
said  I,  'I  have,  perhaps  imprudently,  acquainted  you  with 
my  mineral  secret.  You  are  leagued  with  a  number  of 
inveterate  mineral  hunters,  some  of  whom  I  know  are  not 
very  scrupulous,  especially  when  under  the  stimulus  of  the 
'auri  sacra  fames'  (I  quoted  some  of  the  little  Latin  I 
have;  it  always  impresses  these  treasure  hunters),  'and  I 
must  request  that  you  will  not  communicate  to  any  one 
what  I  have  told  you.  I  have  been  confidential  with  you 
because  we  are  old  friends,  and  I  know  I  may  rely  on  you 
to  keep  my  secret.' 

"  'Oh,  of  course/  said  he ;  'of  course/ 

"And  then,  after  he  had  again  tried  to  induce  me  to  join 
my  interests  with  those  of  his  company,  which  I  again  de 
clined,  I  opened  the  windows  and  again  let  off  the  fumes 
of  sulphur,  which  had  set  us  both  to  coughing,  and,  advis 
ing  him  to  put  out  the  fire,  bade  him  good-night. 

"Next  day  he  went  home.  I  did  not  renew  the  subject, 
nor  did  he  offer  to  do  so,  but  as  we  shook  hands  at  parting  I 
said,  in  an  undertone,  'Remember!  not  a  word  about  my 
mineral  secret.'  He  replied,  'Oh,  no,  not  a  word,'  and  we 
parted. 

"About  two  weeks  after  this  I  was  standing  on  the  bank 
of  the  river,  when  a  steamboat  landed,  and  two  men  came 
on  shore,  whom  I  recognized  as  two  of  the  most  zealous 
and  active  members  of  the  K.  S.  M.  C.,  Mr.  Jacob  Walter 
and  Mr.  Abraham  Backstep,  each  having  a  large  pair  of 
saddlebags  on  his  arm.  I  suspected  at  once  that  Bradshaw 
had  let  my  secret  leak  out,  and  that  they  had  come  in  search 
of  my  mine.  While  they  were  walking  up  the  bank  to  the 
town,  I  pretended  to  be  looking  away  at  the  departing 
steamboat,  but  kept  a  side-glance  on  them,  and  observed 


Barbara's  Wrath  329 

that  they  saw  me,  but  that  they  desired  to  escape  observa 
tion.  They  went  directly  to  the  tavern,  and  after  a  while 
I  heard  of  them  in  search,  of  an  idle  fellow  of  the  town, 
who  professed  to  know  the  whereabouts  of  the  mine,  and 
had  often  turned  a  penny  with  this  pretended  knowledge. 
Soon  after,  they  hired  three  horses,  and  rode  away  with 
this  fellow  into  the  country. 

"Two  days  after  I  was  on  the  bank  again,  attracted  by 
the  arrival  of  a  steamboat  from  below,  and  I  saw  the  two 
gentlemen  go  on  board  of  this  boat,  their  saddlebags  stuffed 
with  something  very  heavy,  each  straining  under  the  weight 
of  his  burden.  I  knew  at  once  where  they  had  been,  and 
that  they  were  carrying  away  a  load  of  worthless  material ; 
for  I  had  myself  explored  the  mine  the  idle  fellow  had 
shown  them,  and  had  submitted  specimens  of  it  to  experts, 
who  had  pronounced  it  worthless.  But  I  wrote  at  once  an 
indignant  letter  to  Bradshaw,  complaining  of  his  breach 
of  confidence,  and  upbraiding  him  for  sending  these  hun 
gry  silver-hunters  into  my  territory,  and  expressing  fear 
lest  they  might  have  discovered  my  mine,  and  thus  fore 
stalled  me  in  what  I  regarded  as  the  most  brilliant  prospect 
for  a  vast  fortune  ever  offered  to  man.  He  replied  prompt 
ly.  I  got  his  letter  the  day  I  left  home.  He  was  full  of 
contrition,  confessing  that,  in  the  strictest  confidence,  and 
after  the  most  solemn  promise  on  the  part  of  the  directors 
of  the  K.  S.  M.  C.  that  they  would  keep  the  secret,  and 
that  they  would  take  no  steps,  directly  or  indirectly,  toward 
the  discovery  of  the  mine,  he  had  told  them  what  I  had 
communicated  to  him,  expecting  them  to  offer  me  such 
terms  as  would  insure  my  acceptance,  and  that  the  result 
would  benefit  both  parties.  He  took  great  shame  to  himself 
for  his  indiscretion,  and,  to  convince  me  of  his  sincerity, 
stated  that,  although  he  now  considered  his  interest  in 
the  K.  S.  M.  C.  worth  a  million  of  dollars  or  more,  yet,  in 
view  of  the  bad  faith  of  the  'management/  and  the  ques 
tionable  predicament  in  which  they  had  placed  him,  he  had 
written  to  them  an  indignant  letter,  resigning  his  place  as 
a  director,  and  dissolving  his  connection  with  them.  As 
for  his  stock,  any  portion  of  it,  or  all  of  it,  should  be  trans 
ferred  to  me  as  indemnification  for  any  loss  I  might  sus- 


330  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

tain.  I  wish  I  had  his  letter  here  to  show  you.  It  fairly 
fumes  through  four  pages ! 

"I  have  no  faith  in  the  existence  of  Swift's  mine.  His 
journal,  which  they  obtained  at  great  cost,  bears  evidence 
of  untruth.  Even  if  true  and  made  for  his  own  use,  the 
places  of  deposit  of  'treasure'  and  'prizes'  are  too  vaguely 
indicated  for  guidance.  I  am  astonished  to  see  a  sagacious 
man  like  Ould  under  this  delusion.  But  the  search  for 
precious  metals  or  hidden  treasure  begets  a  kind  of  mania, 
and  obscures  the  clearest  mind.  They  are  all  here  now  in 
cubating  something.  If  I  had  any  stock  in  the  company,  I 
would  sell  out  before  the  hatch." 

Digby  had  not  only  no  faith  in  Swift's  mine,  but  no  pa 
tience  with  these  mineral  hunters.  He  had  always  ridi 
culed  them  in  such  way  that  Ould,  confidential  with  him 
in  all  other  respects,  never  broached  to  him  this  subject. 
Digby  also  had  observed  what  Ould  had  told  Thornton, 
that  there  was  always  a  rise  in  the  stock  when  the  members 
came  together  for  conference,  and,  fortified  by  the  views 
of  Mr.  Woolfolk,  he  resolved  to  sell  Thornton's  shares  on 
the  first  favorable  opportunity. 


THE  K.  S.  M.  C. 
"There  was  a  Machiavellian  plot." 

A  FEW  days  after  the  events  of  the  last  chapter  there  was 
an  unusual  stir  among  the  members  of  the  Kentucky  Silver 
Mining  Company — such  a  stir  as  had  never  been  known 
among  them  before.  They  were  non-communicative,  but 
that  something  of  great  moment  had  transpired  was  plain, 
from  their  movements,  and  was  written  on  their  faces. 
Tom  Long,  meeting  Digby  at  the  early  market,  told  him 
that  some  ore  from  one  of  their  late  purchases  had  been 
tested,  and  was  found  to  be  marvelously  rich  in  silver;  that 
a  very  small  portion,  assayed  in  an  imperfect  manner,  had 
yielded  something  over  twenty  cents  in  pure  silver;  that 
the  board  of  managers  and  other  members  had  been  up  all 
night,  ciphering,  to  ascertain  the  net  yield  per  ton,  and 
that  the  result  was  simply  stupendous ! 

On  his  way  home  after  the  interview  with  Long,  Digby 
was  overtaken  by  Mr.  Twist.  This  gentleman  had  never 
before  been  known  to  visit  the  early  market,  not  being  a 
housekeeper,  and  something  in  his  manner,  as  he  saluted 
Digby,  arrested  that  gentleman's  attention.  And  when 
Twist  joined  him  and  walked  with  him  homeward,  he  dis 
missed  his  first  conjecture,  that  the  young  lawyer  had  been 
sitting  up  all  night  gambling,  and  made  up  his  mind  that 
he  was  abroad  this  early  for  a  purpose,  and  this  purpose 
he  connected  with  the  extraordinary  revelation  just  made 
by  Tom  Long.  Wherefore,  when  Twist  at  once  made  it 
known  that  his  business  did  -  relate  to  Thornton's  stock, 
Digby  was  completely  on  his  guard.  For  a  wonder,  Twist 
went  straight  to  his  point.  He  told  Digby  that  he  had 

331 


332  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

heard  that  Thornton's  stock  in  the  K.  S.  M.  C.  was  for  sale, 
and  that  he,  Digby,  had  a  power  to  dispose  of  it.  That,  if 
such  was  the  fact,  he,  Twist,  was  ready  to  buy  it  at  a  fair 
price.  Digby  answered  that  he  was  correctly  informed  in 
all  these  particulars,  but  that  there  was  a  buzz  of  great  dis 
coveries  made  lately  on  the  property  of  the  company,  and 
that  he  feared  that  he  would  do  injustice  to  Thornton  if  he 
should  sell  except  at  what  might  seem  a  very  high  price. 

After  some  maneuvering  by  Twist,  which  was  coolly  and 
dexterously  met  by  Digby,  Twist  suddenly  halted  and 
asked,  "What  will  vou  take  for  the  whole  stock,  cash 
down?" 

"Ten  thousand  dollars,  if  the  bargain  shall  be  consum 
mated  within  an  hour." 

"I  will  take  it/'  said  Twist,  "and  will  bring  you  a  check 
for  the  money  within  that  time." 

"Very  well,"  said  Digby,  "but  don't  be  a  second  behind, 
or  I  shall  claim  a  right  to  decline  the  sale.  Whose  check 
will  you  give  ?" 

"One  that  shall  be  sufficient,"  answered  Twist  as  he 
walked  rapidly  away. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  he  returned  with  McCrae' s 
check  for  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  Digby  went  to  the  office 
of  Ould,  where  the  books  were  kept,  and  transferred  Thorn 
ton's  large  "block"  of  shares  to  McCrae. 

Great  was  the  annoyance  of  Ould  when  he  found  that 
Thornton's  stock  had  been  sold — "sold  to  that  confounded 
McCrae."  He  had  intended  to  go  early  in  the  morning  arid 
caution  Digby  against  the  sale,  but  having  been  up  nearly 
all  night,  ciphering  with  the  rest,  and  talking  over  the 
affairs  of  the  company,  he  slept  late.  He  fretted  very  much 
over  the  matter,  walking  the  floor  of  his  office,  and  rubbing 
his  black  shock  of  hair  into  what  Mr.  Jack  Taylor  called 
a  "hooraw's  nest,"  whatever  that  may  be.  At  last  he  quieted 
down,  and  said  to  Digby,  "You  have  thrown  away  millions, 
but  then  my  interest  is  so  large,  I  shall  be  able  to  make 
you  all  rich." 

All  that  day  there  was  a  ferment  among  the  members  of 
the  company.  Abraham  Backstep  was  hurrying  back  and 
forth,  from  Washington  Hall  Tavern  to  Ould's  office,  gath- 


The  K.  S.  M.  C.  333 

ering  about  him  groups  of  members,  and  talking,  and  ges 
ticulating  in  an  excited  manner.  Tom  Long  told  Digby 
that  a  resolution  had  been  passed  by  the  company,  after 
the  result  of  the  assay  was  known,  that  no  member  should 
purchase  any  stock  without  first  offering  it  to  the  company, 
and  that  the  purchase  of  Thornton's  stock  by  McCrae  was 
considered  a  breach  of  faith,  and  Backstep  was  busy  organ 
izing  the  opinion  of  the  members,  and  bringing  it  to  bear, 
to  force  him  to  turn  over  his  purchase  to  the  company. 
Such  an  angry  feeling  was  manifested  between  McCrae  and 
Backstep,  that  a  hostile  encounter  between  them  was  looked 
for  at  any  moment.  They  had  always  been  enemies.  The 
fact  that  they  were  both  birds  of  prey  and  rivals  was  a 
natural  cause  of  enmity,  but  this  was  intensified  and  em 
bittered  by  the  fact  that  they  bore  to  each  other  a  strong 
personal  resemblance.  Both  were  large,  bony  men,  both 
bad  yellow-red  hair,  light-blue  eyes,  and  a  thin,  papery  skin, 
and  both  carried  habitually,  beneath  their  left  arms,  great 
portfolios,  which,  at  a  distance,  made  their  carriage  and 
outlines  precisely  alike.  Both  had  been  told  of  this  re 
semblance,  and  were  themselves  conscious  of  it,  and  each 
revolted  from  the  other  as  from  a  personal  caricature. 
There  is  no  better  foundation  for  a  good  hearty  hatred,  be 
tween  men  of  a  certain  class,  than  a  strong  personal  re 
semblance. 

Under  the  lead  of  Backstep  the  members  were  wrought 
to  a  high  pitch  of  excitement.  The  enormous  wealth  which 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  fallen  into  their  hands  only  made 
them  more  covetous  and  greedy,  and  there  was  a  general 
and  fierce  revolt  against  what  they  considered  McCrae's 
sharp  practice.  At  a  meeting  held  in  the  dancing-hall  of 
the  tavern,  his  conduct  was  vehemently  denounced,  as  it 
was  also  on  the  street,  and  in  his  presence  in  his  office, 
whither  he  was  followed  and  badgered  by  a  throng  of  in 
dignant  members.  But  McCrae,  having  the  law  on  his  side, 
resolutely  held  his  ground ;  sullenly  champing  his  stump  of 
cigar  through  all  their  excited  declamations ;  his  white  eyes 
emitting  at  intervals  a  quick,  sidelong,  phosphoric  gleam, 
like  that  often  seen  in  the  eyes  of  swine  when  feeding,  and 
always  in  those  of  an  old  boar  churning  his  chaps,  at  bay. 


334  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

It  is  no  part  of  the  purpose  of  this  chronicler  to  announce 
philosophical  truths,  nor  to  set  up  for  his  humble  work  any 
pretensions  to  philosophic  history.  "Scribitur  ad  narran- 
dum,  non  ad  probandum"  But  having  assigned  as  a  cause 
of  intense  hostility  between  Backstep  and  McCrae  their 
personal  resemblance,  he  feels  it  incumbent  upon  him  to 
offer  some  show  of  reason  for  this  seeming  paradox.  He 
is  not  going  to  enter  into  the  metaphysical  reasoning  by 
which,  long  ago,  he  reached  this  conclusion, — that  he  knows 
would  cause  most  readers  instantly  to  close  the  book, — but 
only  briefly  to  submit  the  matter  of  fact  that  first  drew  his 
attention  to  this  subject :  In  this  chronicler's  neighbor 
hood  there  lived  two  idiotic  negro  slaves,  who  bore  to  each 
other  the  closest  resemblance.  Both  were  hideously  ugly, 
both  incapable  of  articulate  speech,  both  deformed  alike, 
and  unable  to  maintain  an  upright  position  without  the  aid 
of  a  staff ;  and  both  were  mild  and  affectionate  in  disposi 
tion,  and  could  be  trusted  with  children.  They  had  never 
met,  and  their  owners,  being  curious  to  know  how  they 
would  regard  each  other,  agreed  to  bring  them  together, 
and  appointed  a  day  for  that  purpose.  Accordingly,  in  the 
presence  of  their  owners  and  their  families,  and  some 
neighbors,  these  idiots  were  confronted.  Instantly,  ex 
changing  furious  glances,  they  rushed  together  in  fierce 
conflict,  fighting  with  tooth  and  nail,  like  devils,  requiring 
the  united  force  of  several  strong  men  to  draw  them 
asunder.  Here  was  humanity  in  its  simple,  unsophisticated 
state,  kind  to  all  others,  but  inflamed  with  inextinguishable 
wrath  at  the  sight  of  its  own  counterpart ! 

Moreover,  inasmuch  as  the  poets  are  always  first  to  dis 
cover  and  point  out  all  occult  traits  in  human  character, 
this  chronicler  was,  long  after,  gratified  to  find  his  conclu 
sion  fortified  by  one  of  these,  in  a  song  which  he  heard  in 
the  circus,  and  which  is  perhaps  familiar  to  the  reader,  the 
whole  burden  of  which  is  denunciation  of  a  person  described 
simply  as  "The  fellow  that  looks  like  me." 

To  readers  who  take  delight  in  metaphysical  alchemy,  he 
leaves  the  pleasing  task  of  resolving  in  the  crucibles  of 
their  philosophic  minds  the  rationale  of  this  seeming  va 
gary,  but  fundamental  truth  of  human  character. 


The  K.  S.  M.  C.  335 

Before  the  intestine  war  in  the  K.  S.  M.  C.  was  termi 
nated  other  tests  of  the  ore  were  made,  all  of  which  failed 
to  show  any  trace  of  silver  or  other  valuable  element,  and 
soon  the  eager  throng  of  members  was  dissolved,  all  re 
turning  to  their  homes,  to  brood  over  their  disappointment, 
and  to  renew  again  and  again  their  hopes  and  their  failures, 
a.nd  to  transmit  these  to  generations  unborn. 

Thornton  was  soon  up  to  his  eyes  in  business.  The  fac 
tory  and  a  fireproof  hemphouse  were  building,  and  a  sec 
ond  shipment  of  more  than  a  dozen  jackasses  was  received 
from  Dick,  with  letters  informing  him  that  he  had  estab 
lished  in  a  province  of  France  contiguous  to  Spain  an 
agency  for  the  purchase  and  shipment  of  Spanish  jackasses, 
and  that  regular  monthly  shipments  should  be  made  as  long 
as  the  trade  should  be  profitable.  For  more  than  two  years 
shipments  continued  to  come  to  The  Falls,  all  of  which 
were  sold,  the  prices,  instead  of  declining,  advancing  with 
every  shipment,  yielding  a  very  great  profit.  Then,  the 
price  declining,  Dick  thinking  the  game  at  its  best  dis 
continued  the  trade. 

Many  readers  will  remember  how  this  traffic  after  a  tem 
porary  decline  again  revived,  and  grew  apace,  and  became 
at  last  a  craze,  and  seized  upon  some  of  our  high  officials 
abroad,  involving  in  a  scandal  a  naval  officer  of  the  highest 
rank,  who  was  subjected  to  a  court  of  inquiry  for  having 
brought  home  in  a  public  vessel,  to  the  great  discomfort  of 
his  officers  and  the  discredit  of  the  service,  a  cargo  of  Span 
ish  jackasses.  It  is  curious  to  recall  in  illustration  of  the 
saying  of  the  wise  man,  "There  is  nothing  new,"  etc.,  the 
historical  fact,  that  in  the  reign  of  George  the  Second, 
under  the  administration  of  Walpole,  there  was  in  Thread- 
needle  street,  besides  the  South  Sea  Company  and  innumer 
able  other  associations,  a  Spanish  Jackass  Company. 

Major  Tinsley  was  in  his  proper  element  while  this  busi 
ness  went  on ;  busying  himself  with  all  its  details,  and  ren 
dering  great  service  to  Thornton. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

JOHN  D.  EESOLVES  TO  GO  TO  COLLEGE 

"When  once  you  trust  yourself  you  know  the  art  of  living." 

— MEPHISTOPHELES. 

THERE  came  now  a  sad  day  for  John  D.  when  Bradstreet 
announced  to  him  that  he  was  going  to  lay  by  the  old  fusil 
and  give  up  fishing  and  shooting,  and  betake  himself  to 
"business."  To  complete  his  unhappiness  his  classmate 
and  friend,  and  sometime  foe,  Bond,  announced  that  he 
was  going  to  give  up  the  "world/'  by  which  he  meant  not 
only  these  diversions,  but  every  idle  amusement, — the  cir 
cus  and  the  play-house, — and  that  he  had  already  begun  to 
study  for  the  ministry  of  the  Presbyterian  church !  Soon 
Bond  went  away  to  the  theological  school  at  Danville,  while 
Bradstreet  was  to  be  found,  dressed  like  a  beau,  in  swallow 
tail  coat  and  standing  dickey,  and  white  cravat,  behind  the 
counter  of  his  mother's  store,  or  was  seen  hurrying  along 
the  sidewalk,  up  to  his  eyes  in  business — and  happy!  A 
dreadful  sense  of  isolation  came  over  John  D.  seeing  this ; 
a  feeling  not  unlike  that  which  possessed  him  when  he  and 
Bond  had  once  made  up  their  minds  to  run  away.  Bond 
seemed  to  have  soared  away  to  a  higher  sphere,  and  Brad- 
street — "dear  old  B." — seemed  to  have  stridden  on  seven- 
league  boots  far  off  on  the  highroad  of  life;  abandoning 
to  him  the  wildwoods,  the  shady  banks  of  Beargrass  Creek, 
the  islands  and  all  the  enchanting  precincts  of  the  falls,  so 
long  their  common  property,  leaving  him  desolate, 

"Lone  sitting  by  the  shore  of  old  Romance." 

As  he  considered  his  position  a  dreadful  sense  of  short 
coming  possessed  him;  and  this  grew  to  such  intensity  as 

336 


John  D.  Resolves  to  Go  to  College  337 

racked  his  very  soul!  In  announcing  his  change  of  life/ 
Bradstreet  said  that  it  had  now  become  necessary,  and  his 
duty,  to  help  his  mother  in  her  business;  that  his  brother 
Dudley  was  too  delicate  for  any  kind  of  work;  that  he  him 
self  was  strong,  and  now  glad  to  be  able  to  make  some  re 
turn  to  his  mother  for  the  care  and  expense  she  had  in 
curred  in  his  behalf.  "Dear  old  B. !"  He  was  always  a  good 
and  unselfish  fellow,  and  now  he  proves  to  be  a  dutiful  son. 
And  have  I  not  duties?  Is  there  not  something  in  life 
higher  and  better  than  mere  amusement?  Yes,  surely. 
There  is  work  for  me  to  do.  But  what  shall  it  be  ?  Alas ! 
why  have  I  not  been  trained  to  some  kind  of  business,  and 
taught  to  look  forward  to  some  useful  occupation?"  Of 
what  avail  now  was  all  the  Latin  and  Greek  he  had  been 
at  such  pains  to  learn  ?  To  Bond  in  his  vocation  it  would 
be  necessary,  but  to  him  it  seemed  only  time  wasted.  He 
would  beg  his  father  to  give  him  something  to  do  at  the 
warehouse.  He  would  do — he  knew  not  what.  Yes,  one 
thing  he  would  do — he  would  go  at  once  to  see  Mr.  Ould 
and  lay  before  him  all  his  troubles.  And  now  in  hot  haste 
he  flew  away  to  Quid's  office. 

The  chronicler  will  not  presume  to  interpret  Mr.  Ould 
for  the  reader,  but  it  is  proper  to  state  some  of  his  well- 
known  characteristics.  That  he  was  unselfish  and  unambi 
tious  has  been  already  shown,  and  it  may  be  inferred,  as  it 
was  certainly  true,  that  he  was  a  philanthropist,  a  lover  of 
his  fellowmen.  A  morbid  optimist  believing  in  the  per 
fectibility  of  man,  a  hypochondriac  in  his  ideas  of  moral 
and  personal  purity,  despising  everything  unclean,  and  like 
Plate's  scholar,  Plotinus,  revolting  against  the  infirmities 
and  necessities  of  his  own  humanity,  a  zealous  Churchman, 
he  was  yet,  as  has  been  seen,  addicted  to  drink.  Perhaps 
in  this  he  found  some  solacement,  taking  him  for  a  time  out 
of  the  current  of  ordinary  life,  where  the  greed  and  dis 
honesty,  with  which  his  profession  brought  him  in  contact, 
filled  him  with  unutterable  disgust.  His  strange  sympathy 
for  Stokes  the  robber,  and  his  toleration  of  the  gamblers, 
came  of  seeing  worse  men  than  they — men  guilty  of  crimes 
from  which  John  Lewis  or  Stokes  would  revolt — enjoying 
the  respect  of  the  world !  To  break  into  a  man's  stronghold 


338  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

and  carry  off  his  goods  or  treasure  is  a  heinous  offense,  and 
the  petty  thief  is  summarily  consigned  to  the  penitentiary. 
But  to  compass  a  man's  ruin,  and  become  possessed  of  his 
estate,  by  artful  devices,  under  the  mask  and  color  of  "busi 
ness,"  is  no  crime  at  all,  and  entails  no  disgrace.  Nay,  if 
the  transaction  be  a  great  one,  it  brings  credit  and  renown, 
a?  the  big  wars  make  ambition  virtue.  Have  we  not  now 
our  Napoleons  of  finance? 

As  for  Quid's  fondness  for  John  D.  and  the  interest  he 
so  constantly  manifested  toward  him,  this  sprang  from  a 
noble  motive,  a  desire  to  open  for  another  a  career  which 
circumstances  and  his  own  infirmities  had  closed  against 
himself — to  enjoy  vicariously  what  he  had  known  only  in 
dreams  of  the  imagination. 

When  John  D.  had  ended  his  lamentation  to  Mr.  Ould 
over  his  distressful  state,  he  asked,  "Don't  you  think  I 
might  learn  bookkeeping?  Mr.  Anderson  is  growing  very 
feeble.  I  may  help  him,  after  a  little,  and  at  last  take 
his  place."  Ould  did  not  answer  this  question  at  once.  He 
was  much  surprised  at  the  heat  shown  by  the  lad,  and 
pleased  by  the  sudden  awakening  of  his  conscience.  But 
more  than  all  he  was  touched  by  his  humility.  Ould  had 
never  had  any  instruction  in  the  ancient  classics.  He  had 
with  the  aid  of  the  grammar  and  dictionary  made  some 
acquaintance  with  Latin — enough  to  make  clear  the  Latin 
of  the  law  books — and  had  often  conned  a  lesson  with  John 
D.  But  he  knew  no  Greek.  He  estimated  very  highly  both 
these  languages.  Of  the  Latin  he  had  come  to  know  enough 
to  see  the  merits  of  some  of  its  great  writers,  and  reveled 
in  Horace,  of  whose  poems  he  had  many  copies  of  various 
editions  and  translations  with  notes  and  commentaries.  Of 
the  Greek  he  had  a  still  higher  notion,  derived  from  the 
testimony  of  authors,  and  perhaps  because  "omne  ignotum 
pro  magnifico."  He  believed  John  D.  to  be  a  good  Latinist, 
having  often  applied  to  him  for  help  in  the  course  of  his 
reading,  and  had  listened  while  he  had  translated  whole 
pages  from  the  easy  Greek  of  the  New  Testament  and 
Xenophon  or  Herodotus.  Thinking  John  D.  firmly  ground 
ed  for  the  attainment  of  ripe  scholarship,  he  had  pitched 
very  high  his  forecast  of  the  lad's  future,  and  was  now  dis- 


John  D.  Resolves  to  Go  to  College  339 

appointed   and   grieved   to  find   him   thinking   of  book 
keeping  ! 

"Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  take  to  something  requiring 
more  scholarship,  where  your  classical  learning  would  be 
available?"  he  said  at  last.  "How  would  you  like  to  be 
a  writer,  an  author  ?  Here  is  a  quarterly  magazine"  (tak 
ing  up  a  number  of  the  Edinburgh  Review  that  lay  on  his 
table) ;  "it  is  the  work  of  a  knot  of  scholars — writers.  It 
contains  well-considered  thoughts  on  a  great  variety  of  sub 
jects  in  which  all  the  world  is  interested :  political,  social, 
philosophical,  art,  belles-lettres.  Whatever  advance  is  made 
in  these  is  here  recorded,  and  intelligently  commented  on. 
With  this  magazine  alone  a  man  may  keep  abreast  with 
the  progress  of  the  world.  Here  is  a  band  of  scholars  at 
work,  giving  themselves  up  to  the  enlightenment  of  the 
public.  How  would  you  like  to  be  a  member  of  that  guild  ? 
If  my  life  were  to  be  gone  over,  I  would  live  on  crusts,  if 
that  were  necessary,  to  enable  me  to  take  part  in  such 
work !  No,  John  D.,  don't  think  of  being  a  bookkeeper  like 
old  Mr.  Anderson,  nor  a  clerk  like  Bradstreet,  nor  a  lawyer 
like  me.  Necessity  has  forced  us  into  these  narrow  lines. 
Your  father  doesn't  want  you  at  the  warehouse.  Tell  him 
that  you  would  like  to  go  to  college,  and  consult  your  old 
master  about  what  college  it  shall  be,  and  then  come  to 
me  again." 

"Do  you  consider  the  lawyer's  profession  narrow  ?" 
"Yes.    How  can  it  be  otherwise  while  its  ultimate  reason 
is  'Ita,  lex  scripta  est'?" 

"I  have  often  heard  that  the  law  sharpens  the  mind." 
"So  it  does;  so  does  horse-trading;  but  they  both  nar 
row  it." 

Mr.  John  Digby,  though  an  imperious  man, — born  in  the 
imperative  mood, — was  not  often  thus  to  John  D. ;  choosing 
rather  to  force  certain  questions  in  the  conduct  of  life  upon 
the  judgment  or  discretion  of  the  lad  himself:  thereby 
teaching  him  self-reliance  as  well  as  prudence.  According 
ly  he  would  take  no  part  in  settling  John  D.'s  plans,  but 
only  advised  him  to  consult  the  master,  who  in  turn  would 
not  recommend  even  his  own  alma  mater,  Harvard  Col 
lege,  saying,  "It  makes  little  difference  what  college  you 


340  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

choose.  All  will  depend  upon  yourself.  None  of  them 
is  what  it  ought  to  be,  but  all  superficial,  often  working 
in  the  interests  of  some  party  in  politics  or  religion,  all 
lacking  thoroughness,  thinking  more  of  big  classes  than  of 
a  high  standard  of  scholarship." 

Nobody  being  willing  to  take  the  responsibility  of  decid 
ing  for  him,  he  decided  for  himself  to  go  to  Harvard  Col 
lege. 

After  a  debauch  or  in  times  of  mental  depression,  Mr. 
Ould  had  been  long  used  to  betake  himself  to  the  banks  of 
Beargrass,  with  a  fishing-rod,  not  for  sport,  to  which  he 
was  not  in  any  form  addicted,  but  in  this  guise  seeking 
only  to  divert  his  thoughts  and  to  recover  such  good  spirits 
as  was  possible  to  him.  On  these  occasions  John  D.  was 
his  favorite  companion.  Avoiding  all  others,  he  kept  him 
self  as  much  as  might  be  with  the  lad  alone,  pleased  always 
by  his  honest  prattle,  and  often  discoursing  to  him  from 
his  own  ample  store.  To  John  D.'s  admiration  always,  and 
often  to  his  edification,  he  held  forth  in  his  oratorical  style, 
delivering  himself  in  a  free,  careless  way  beyond  anything 
he  would  adventure  before  a  more  critical  audience. 

Meantime,  John  D.  was  thinking  seriously  of  his  future, 
and  the  question  of  going  to  college  suggested  by  Mr.  Ould 
became  a  subject  of  constant  and  earnest  meditation.  Hav 
ing  passed  the  summer  and  a  good  part  of  the  early  fall 
at  Lastlands,  often  attending  Mr.  Wall's  classes,  where 
Barbara  astonished  him  by  her  recitals  of  Latin  and  Greek, 
and  especially  by  attainments  in  prosody  to  which  hitherto 
he  had  given  little  care,  where  the  rules  that  govern  long 
and  short  were  at  her  finger-ends,  scanning  all  measures 
with  equal  facility,  and  at  the  piano  making  sport  with 
the  Greek  lyrics,  he  went  back  to  his  desk  in  the  room  of 
his  old  master  to  review  his  Greek  and  Latin  and  such  parts 
of  mathematics  as  he  should  advise,  and  resolved  to  set  out 
for  Boston  in  the  early  spring. 

The  association  of  Ould  and  John  D.  became  now  more 
intimate  than  ever  before.  They  were  together  in  John  D/s 
holidays,  for  which  Ould  contrived  often  to  find  leisure, 
and  to  receive  as  well  as  to  impart  frequent  lessons.  One 
day  while  the  blue  haze  peculiar  to  the  early  fall  enveloped 


John  D.  Eesolves  to  Go  to  College  341 

the  landscape,  they  were  sauntering  along  Beargrass  fish 
ing,  John  D.  for  the  love  of  the  sport,  and  Ould  for  the 
diversion  and  for  the  soothing  influence  of  the  fair  scenes 
into  which  it  led.  Under  the  shade  of  a  wide  spreading 
elm  whose  feet  were  bathed  in  the  stream  Ould  lay  on  the 
grass,  while  John  D.  continued  the  sport,  and  they  fell 
into  talk.  "John  D.,"  said  Ould,  "how  does  this  fine 
autumn  weather  affect  you?  Does  it  make  you  merry  or 
sad?" 

John  D.,  looking  into  the  water  at  the  fishes  on  the  string 
slowly  waving  their  fins,  having  given  up  all  effort  to  get 
free  by  tugging — all  except  one  little  roach-backed  perch 
which  still  struggled  at  intervals,  scattering  the  water  and 
making  frantic  efforts  for  liberty— John  D.  looking  at  these 
and  feeling  a  sense  of  great  satisfaction  with  his  success, 
answered  that  he  liked  the  weather  very  much,  and  that 
he  was  always  in  good  spirits  in  fine  weather,  especially 
in  the  fall,  as  that  was  a  season  for  sport. 

"Happy  John  D. !"  said  Ould ;  "I  hope  you  may  always 
feel  thus.  I  used  to  see  all  the  beauty  of  this  season,  and 
to  read  with  delight  all  that  the  sentimental  poets  have  sung 
about  it.  Now  it  pleases  me  no  longer,  but  fills  my  mind 
with  pain,  with  a  vague  sense  of  something  neglected — a 
sense  of  shortcoming  akin  to  remorse — for  which  I  can  find 
no  special  cause.  It  deadens  my  sensibility,  dims  the  light 
of  the  sun,  robs  the  earth  and  the  sky  of  their  colors,  and 
takes  all  the  love  and  all  the  hate  and  every  desire  out 
of  my  heart.  I  feel  as  if  my  humanity  had  dry-rotted  upon 
me,  leaving  nothing  but  the  dry  bones  and  tissues  of  a 
mummy.  The  only  impulse  I  ha.ve  is  to  flee  away,  I  care 
not  whither,  which  possesses  me  as  it  did  Cain  when  he 
had  done  the  first  murder.  You  have  never  felt  anything 
like  this?" 

"No,  no,  I  have  never  felt  anything  like  that.  But  I 
have  felt  like  running  away." 

"Ah!    When  was  that?" 

"About  a  year  ago.  Bond  and  I  had  the  same  feeling,  an 
awful  dissatisfied  sort  of  feeling.  It  was  in  the  fall,  now 
I  remember,  just  before  school  took  up,  near  the  end  of 
the  vacation.  We  had  talked  it  over  for  a  good  while  in; 


342  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

secret,  and  at  last  made  up  our  minds  to  run.  We  had 
both  saved  up  our  pocket  money,  and  had  packed  our  wal 
lets  ready  for  a  start  on  Monday  morning." 

"Blue  Monday,  I  suppose,"  said  Ould,  with  a  grim  smile. 

"No,  it  was  not  that.  School  was  not  to  take  up  for  a 
week  yet.  No,  I  believe  if  school  had  taken  up  at  once  it 
might  have  gone  out  of  our  heads." 

"Well,  did  you  run  off?" 

"No;  you  see  the  circus  came  to  town  on  Saturday,  and 
was  going  to  show  all  the  next  week,  and  had  their  show 
bills  all  over  town,  and  that  broke  it  all  up." 

"You  went  to  the  circus,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  and  we  were  glad  that  we  had  saved  our  pocket 
money.  We  went  every  night  and  to  the  day-show  on  Sat 
urday." 

While  John  D.  was  making  this  confession,  Quid's  face 
gradually  relaxed  from  its  gloomy  expression,  a  smile  over 
spread  his  countenance,  and  at  the  end  he  broke  into  hearty 
laughter.  "Well,  John  D.,"  he  said,  "I  shall  always  think 
well  of  the  circus."  Then  he  chuckled  and  said,  "Yes,  the 
circus  is  a  good  institution.  And  you  are  my  circus, 
John  D." 

Soon  after  this,  with  their  fish  and  rods,  they  were  walk 
ing  slowly  homeward,  when  John  D.  resumed  the  talk. 
"Now  I  think  of  it,"  he  said,  "I  have  heard  many  boys  say 
they  had  had  this  dissatisfied  feeling,  and  had  a  notion  of 
running  away;  and  I  have  known  some  that  did  run  away. 
What  is  the  cause  of  this,  do  you  think,  Mr.  Ould  ?" 

"Well,  we  will  talk  it  over  some  day.  It  may  be  an 
instinct  like  that  which  sends  the  birds  and  the  squirrels, 
the  wild  turkeys,  and  even  the  bears  across  the  country  in. 
hordes;  an  imperious  instinct  that  forces  them  on  over  all 
obstacles — swimming  rivers  and  scaling  mountains,  and 
never  resting  until  the  fever  of  migration  has  abated.  They 
have  a  striking  example  of  this  in  Norway,  where  a  little 
animal  of  the  marmot  genus  migrates,  at  intervals,  moving 
in  vast  numbers  always  to  the  same  point  of  the  compass, 
toward  the  sea,  into  which  they  plunge  and  perish.  It  has 
been  conjectured  that  this  movement  is  made  in  obedience 
to  an  ancient,  a  paleontological  instinct,  which  once  carried 


John  D.  Resolves  to  Go  to  College  343 

them  to  Plato's  island  of  Atlantis,  but,  now  that  Atlantis 
has  sunk  into  the  sea,  carries  them  only  to  destruction. 
It  may  be  that  man  has  some  remnant  of  such  an  instinct. 
You  know  some  philosophers  have  maintained  that  man 
has  been  raised  to  his  present  high  state  by  infinitesimally 
small  advances  from  the  lowest  order  of  being.  That  the 
primeval  man  had  a>  tail,  and  that  at  the  extremity  of  the 
spinal  column  we  have  still  the  remains  of  this  disused 
member.  Without  subscribing  to  these  extreme  views,  we 
may  reasonably  suppose  that  man,  in  his  primitive  condi 
tion,  had  need  of  many  of  the  instincts  of  the  lower  ani 
mals;  that,  with  a  view  to  spread  animal  life  over  the 
globe  from  the  center  of  creation,  he  was  endowed,  in  com 
mon  with  the  lower  animals,  with  this  instinct  of  migra 
tion.  But  now  when  civilization  has  developed  other  suf 
ficient  means  for  this  purpose,  the  instinct  has  abated  by 
disuse,  and  as  the  tail  has  done,  is  likely  to  disappear  al 
together.  It  may  be  a  relic  of  this  instinct  stirring  in 
youthful  man  that  makes  him  inclined  to  run  away.  But 
this  is  a  crude  and  unprofitable  discussion,  John  D.  Let 
us  leave  it,  for  the  present,  where  we  found  it."  And  so 
the  subject  was  dropped. 

But  John  D.  could  not  leave  the  subject  where  he  found 
it.  He  turned  over  in  his  mind,  again  and  again,  all  that 
Ould  had  said  about  Monboddo's  theory  of  men  with  tails, 
and  of  instincts  that  had  abated,  and  of  faculties  of  man 
now  in  a  rudimentary  state,  and  yet  to  be  developed  in 
the  higher  civilization  to  which  he  is  destined,  and  we 
know  not  what  else,  for  Mr.  Quid's  talk  was  of  much 
greater  scope  than  is  here  set  down.  The  more  John  D. 
thought  of  these  strange  ideas  the  more  perplexed  he  grew, 
and  having  a  high  opinion  of  Mr.  Russell's  powers,  from 
discussions  heard  between  him  and  Ould,  meditated  sub 
mitting  these  puzzling  problems  to  him.  But  chancing  to 
meet  the  old  herdsman,  Kirby,  that  day  in  town,  and  loving 
a  chat  together,  he  submitted  to  him  the  problem  about  the 
inclination  in  youth  to  run  away.  It  was  not  at  first  easy 
to  get  the  old  man  to  understand  the  proposition,  but  after 
a  while  he  said,  "Oh,  yes !  I  understand — yes,  yes.  There 
used  to  be  an  old  fellow  about  the  settlement  here  that 


344  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

talked  a  good  deal  about  that.  He  was  a  hard  old  case !  and 
when  he  was  drinking  about  the  groceries  in  town  he  used 
to  talk  about  this  and  say  that  young  men  didn't  grow  up 
then  as  they  did  in  his  time.  "Then/  he  said,  'when  a  fel 
low  got  seventeen  or  eighteen  years  old  he  just  shook  him 
self  in  his  shirt  collar  and  come  out  a  man,  and  stayed  a 
man.  But  now  they  get  thirty  years  old  and  ain't  men  yet !' 
I  think  maybe  it's  owin'  to  the  way  they're  raised  now.  In 
my  time  a  young  fellow  generally  had  some  trouble  of  some 
kind,  a  fight  about  a  sweetheart,  or  got  into  some  scrape 
that  he  come  out  of  all  right,  and  then  he  was  a  man 
from  that  time  out.  But  they  didn't  mope  around  or  run 
away.  Yes,  I  think  it's  owin'  to  the  way  they're  raised. 
You  know  the  young  turkey  gobblers  about  the  barn,  with 
a  warm  place  to  sleep,  and  feed  layin'  around  everywhere, 
when  their  snouts  and  wattles  begin  to  grow  'most  always 
have  an  ailin'  and  mope  round  and  are  inclined  to  wander 
— the  old  women  call  it  the  megrims ;  but  the  young  wild- 
turkeys  that  sleep  in  the  woods,  and  have  to  scratch  for  a 
livin',  never  have  anything  the  matter  with  them.  Yes,  I 
think  it  must  be  owin'  to  how  they're  raised." 

This  exposition  of  the  old  herdsman  did  not  throw  much 
light  upon  the  puzzling  question,  and  John  D.,  finding  him 
self  one  day  fishing  beneath  the  elm  in  company  with  Mr. 
Russell,  was  reminded  to  submit  to  him  the  question,  why 
there  is  at  some  time  in  youth  a  sense  of  shortcoming  and 
a  natural  inclination  to  run  away ;  telling  him  at  the  same 
time  of  his  having  already  submitted  the  question  to  Mr. 
Ould. 

"Ould!"  exclaimed  Eussell.  "Well,  what  did  he  say? 
He  went  back  to  the  creation  of  man,  didn't  he?" 

"Well,  yes,  pretty  near  there:  he  went  back  to  a  time 
when  men  had  tails." 

Russell  shook  with  laughter.  "Tell  me  what  he  said, 
John  D." 

Then  the  lad  gave  him  a  pretty  clear  account  of  the 
points  evolved  by  Mr.  Ould. 

"Now,"  said  Russell,  "I  am  no  philosopher  as  Mr.  Ould 
is,  but  a  plain  man  that  loves  the  matter  of  fact.  That 
there  is  such  an  inclination  as  you  describe  there  can  be 


John  D.  Resolves  to  Go  to  College  345 

DO  doubt.  It  occurs  about  the  time  when  we  are  approach 
ing  man's  estate.  It  is  manifested  outwardly  by  an  inordi 
nate  growth  of  the  nose,  which  then  sprouts  into  new  di 
mensions,  changing  the  whole  countenance,  and  by  a  curi 
ous  alteration  in  the  voice,  which  seems  possessed  of  a 
strange  caprice,  passing  out  of  the  control  of  its  owner, 
being  at  one  moment  bass,  and  the  next  moment  treble,  just 
as  it  pleases ! 

"Inwardly,  or  metaphysically,  it  is  manifested  by  the 
personal  appearance  of  the  individual  becoming  to  him  a 
matter  of  new  and  paramount  concern ;  and  this  at  a  time 
when  he  is  disfigured  by  that  strange  metamorphosis  of 
feature  and  voice !  The  result  is  that,  while  his  aspiration 
in  the  one  direction  of  personal  appearance  is  immense,  it 
is  attended  by  the  utmost  diffidence.  He  is  sick  of  shoes 
and  longs  for  boots,  but  is  too  shy  to  put  these  on.  He 
despises  his  round  jackets,  but  lacks  nerve  to  put  on  a 
long-tailed  coat.  He  admires  and  yet  dreads  a  well-dressed 
man  above  everything  except  a  well-dressed  young  woman. 
A  first-class  dandy  is  to  him  an  awful  object!  Happily, 
this  condition  does  not  last  long.  Some  escape  it  alto 
gether.  It  is  sure  to  be  ended  by  any  serious  event  or  cir 
cumstance  that  puts  the  individual  on  his  own  resources, 
and  forces  him  to  act  for  himself.  This  at  any  rate  was 
my  experience. 

"I  remember  well  when  I  was  in  this  state.  I  had  saved 
my  pocket  money,  just  as  you  did,  getting  ready  for  flight, 
when  I  was  saved  by  my  first  long-tailed  coat.  It  was  of 
blue  cloth  with  gilt  metal  buttons.  I  had  kept  it  for  weeks 
without  being  able  to  muster  the  courage  to  wear  it  in  pub 
lic,  revolving  meantime  my  plan  for  running  away ;  often  in 
the  privacy  of  my  own  room  putting  on  the  whole  suit, 
when  I  rehearsed  endeavoring  to  accustom  myself  to  it; 
walking  about  the  room  and  practicing  an  easy  carriage 
before  the  glass.  At  last,  one  Sunday  morning,  full  of 
trepidation,  I  wore  it  to  church.  Some  of  the  youngsters 
there,  of  my  age,  still  in  round  jackets,  grinned  maliciously, 
which  galled  me  a  little,  but  I  got  through  the  day  pretty 
comfortably. 

morning,  when  I  contrasted  the  new  clothes  with 


346  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

the  old  ones,  and  especially  with  my  round  jacket,  which 
I  despised,  I  resolved  to  wear  the  fine  suit  to  school.  I 
had  also  a  pearl-colored  beaver  hat  and  a  pair  of  shiny  boots 
with  brass  pieces,  like  horseshoes,  on  the  heels.  Arrayed  in 
all  this  finery,  with  my  heart  in  my  mouth,  I  set  out  for 
school.  I  got  along  very  well,  people  not  staring  at  me  as 
I  thought  they  would.  In  fact,  nobody  seemed  to  notice 
my  new  garments  until  I  got  near  the  schoolhouse,  when 
I  saw  an  acquaintance  of  my  own  age,  but  still  in  his  round 
jacket,  standing  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  staring 
as  I  advanced  as  if  I  were  a  show.  When  I  got  opposite 
to  him,  he  opened  his  eyes  wide  and  grinned,  and  cried 
out,  in  a  voice  loud  enough  to  be  heard  over  the  whole 
street,  'Gre-a-t  Cae-s-a-r!  Is  that  you?  Why,  I  thought 
it  was  a  man  !' 

"I  gave  him  a  vicious  look  and  passed  on,  and  I  took 
then  a  dislike  to  that  boy  which  lasted  a  long  time. 

"At  school  I  got  on  famously.  There  I  found  myself 
an  object  of  genuine  admiration.  Even  the  master  treated 
me  with  more  consideration  than  usual.  Next  day  he  came 
to  school  with  his  best  suit,  black  with  buff  vest,  and  pretty 
soon  a  whole  bevy  of  boys  of  my  age  and  set  were  in  long- 
tailed  coats. 

"But  on  my  way  home  I  had  serious  trouble.  I  had  got 
pretty  well  accustomed  to  my  finery,  and  walked  along  care 
lessly  enough,  in  fact,  not  without  a  feeling  of  superiority, 
until  I  came  to  the  corner  where  the  apothecary  had  just 
opened  his  splendid  new  shop  with  its  great  bow  window. 
There,  to  my  horror,  I  saw  advancing  toward  the  corner, 
right  in  my  track  homeward,  a  whole  bevy  of  the  finest 
dandies  in  the  State.  Some  of  them  were  local  dandies  and 
others  celebrities  from  Lexington,  Mr.  Dick  Slaughter  and 
Mr.  Gates  (Owen  Glendower),  and  from  Bardstown,  Mr. 
Hill  Rowan  and  Mr.  Clayton  Slaughter.  They  were  clad 
in  splendid  new  suits  of  cloth  of  various  colors  with  great 
rolling  collars  to  their  coats,  and  wore  bell-crowned  hats, 
and  had  their  hair  frizzed!  Their  shirt-bosoms  were  of 
ruffled  lace,  and  some  of  them  went  with  their  throats  bare, 
after  the  manner  of  Lord  Byron.  (There  were  giants  in 
those  days!)  Of  all  men  else  I  had  avoided  these.  They 


John  D.  Resolves  to  Go  to  College  347 

filled  me  with  dismay!  I  turned  instantly  to  the  bow 
window  of  the  apothecary,  pretending  to  be  looking  at 
the  great  globes  of  liquids  there,  glowing  with  all  the  colors 
of  the  rainbow,  while  they  should  pass  by.  As  a  further 
diversion,  I  began  to  pick  at  a  huge  stick  of  logwood  that 
stood  upon  a  bracket  beside  the  window  and  was  part  of 
the  show..  I  was  pulling  at  a  splinter  of  this  log,  when 
suddenly  the  distorted  images  of  the  dandies  flashed  into  all 
the  globes  at  once,  giving  me  such  a  spasm  of  embarrass 
ment  that,  somehow,  I  upset  the  great  stick  of  logwood, 
and  it  tumbled  headlong,  smashing  into  the  bow  window 
among  the  colored  globes,  which  instantly  seemed  to  dis 
solve  and  vanish,  like  soap  bubbles.  I  fled  at  once,  clatter 
ing  over  the  pavement  with  my  brazen  heels.  As  I  crossed 
the  street  I  glanced  backward  and  saw  a  frantic,  bare 
headed  man  at  the  front  of  the  shop,  and  I  saw  nothing 
more,  and  was  soon  in  my  room  at  home. 

"The  apothecary  did  not  discover  who  had  broken  his 
window.  The  new  suit  had  saved  me,  for  though  I  had 
worn  it  to  church  and  to  school,  and  had  taken  it  for  grant 
ed  that  the  whole  town  would  be  gaping  at  it,  hardly  any 
body  had  noticed  it.  And  though  in  my  flight  I  had  passed 
many  people  to  whom  my  figure  was  familiar,  the  new  suit 
disguised  me,  and  I  passed  unrecognized. 

"I  kept  my  own  counsel,  but  was  greatly  worried.  I  fan 
cied  that  those  beautiful  colored  globes  must  be  very  costly 
ornaments,  and  their  destruction  a  serious  loss  to  the 
apothecary.  At  last  my  conscience  pricked  me  so  keenly 
that  I  went  down  to  him  and  made  a  clean  breast  of  it,  as 
suming  to  pay  the  damage  as  I  should  be  able,  and  offering 
a  present  payment  of  all  the  pocket  money  I  had  saved. 
And  in  order  to  clear  myself  of  any  imputation  of  malice 
or  wanton  mischief,  I  told  him,  as  candidly  as  I  have  told 
you,  how  I  came  to  break  his  window.  He  is  a  real  good 
man,  that  little  Mr.  Byers !  He  refused  to  take  anything, 
laughing  heartily,  and  shaking  my  hand,  and  making  light 
of  the  whole  affair.  My  notions  about  running  away  van 
ished  as  the  shining  globes  had  done  under  the  shock,  and 
never  returned. 

"As  to  the  gentle  sex,  I  believe  they  have  at  a  certain 


348  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

period  something  analogous  to  the  state  of  mind  we  have 
been  considering,  but  not  manifested  in  the  same  way. 
They  'wear  their  rue  with  a  difference.'  In  their  case  a 
kind  Providence  seems  to  have  provided  a  remedy  in  a  diet 
of  slate  pencils,  popcorn,  cucumber  pickles,  and  other  indi- 
gestibles,  by  means  of  which  the  crisis  is  safely  passed." 

Of  course  the  reader  will  not  give  much  consideration 
to  these  last  speculations  of  a  professed  joker  like  Mr. 
Russell,  though  he  may  remember  to  have  felt  in  his  youth, 
when  about  to  quit  its  flowery  paths  to  tread  the  stony 
road  of  life,  something  of  what  has  been  here  described. 
And  doubtless  the  gentle  sex,  at  a  like  period  of  life,  look 
ing  forward  with  timorous  distrust  upon  the  new  world 
they  are  about  to  enter,  and  backward  with  fond  regret 
upon  the  happy  days  of  girlhood,  have  their  hearts  filled 
as  with  some  tender  brooding  sorrow.  This  feeling  a  poet 
of  the  day  has  finely  expressed  in  words  put  into  the  song 
of  a  young  maiden : 

"Tears,  Idle  tears,  I  know  not  what  they  mean — 
Tears  from  the  depth  of  some  divine  despair, 
Rise  in  the  heart  and  gather  to  the  eyes, 
In  looking  on  the  happy  autumn  fields, 
And  thinking  of  the  days  that  are  no  more." 


CHAPTEK  XXXIV 

A  MERRY  JOURNEY 

"A  merry  journey,  rich  in  pastime,  cheered 
By  music,  pranks,  and  laughter-stirring  jest. 
And  freak  put  on  and  arch  word  dropped." 

EUSSELL  and  Stackpole  had  long  meditated  a  visit  to 
the  Bluegrass  region,  and  now  made  it.  Early  on  Sunday 
morning  they  were  on  their  way  from  Harrodsburg  to 
Frankfort.  Their  road  lay  through  a  neighborhood  com 
posed  mainly  of  sectarians  imbued  with  old  school  Calvin 
ism.  The  zeal  of  this  community  had  been  greatly  quick 
ened  of  late  by  the  preaching  of  two  eloquent  divines, 
whose  labors  had  been  extended  to  almost  every  part  of 
the  State,  and  who  numbered  their  converts  by  thousands. 
A  new  church  had  been  built  and  these  gentlemen  were 
expected,  on  their  return  from  the  western  counties,  to  hold 
a  protracted  meeting  there. 

As  the  travelers  approached  this  neighborhood  dun  clouds 
were  gathering  in  the  western  sky,  and  the  deep  growl  of 
distant  thunder  warned  them  that  they  might  find  it  nec 
essary  to  seek  shelter  from  a  storm.  They  quickened  the 
pace  of  their  horses,  and  at  last,  finding  the  storm  about 
to  burst  upon  them,  broke  into  a  fast  gallop.  The  rain  was 
beginning  to  fall  in  heavy  drops  when,  on  rounding  a  turn 
in  the  road,  they  found  themselves  in  front  of  a  church. 
Seeing  a  long  shed  nearby,  under  which  were  fastened  a 
great  number  of  horses,  they  rode  thither,  and  with  some 
difficulty  found  room  for  theirs.  Looking  toward  the 
church  they  saw  at  the  door  some  persons  holding  it  open 
and  looking  out  at  them.  Hoisting  their  umbrellas  they 
made  a  push  for  the  house,  which  they  found  filled  with 
people.  In  the  vestibule  were  two  persons,  one  of  whom, 

349 


350  '       A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

after  taking  a  good  look  at  the  newcomers,  asked  Stackpole 
if  he  or  his  friend  was  Mr.  Ross  or  Mr.  Gallagher;  and 
when  Stackpole  answered  in  the  negative,  he  said  that  the 
congregation  had  assembled  in  expectation  of  one  of  these 
gentlemen  being  there  to  preach  to  them,  but  he  supposed 
they  had  been  kept  away  by  the  storm.  Stackpole,  who 
had  heard  of  Mr.  Gallagher  as  a  great  sensational  preacher, 
potent  at  revivals,  and,  like  Burns'  Moodie,  one  who  always 

"Speeled  the  holy  door 
Wi'  tidings  of  damnation," 

expressed  some  regret,  having  long  had  a  desire  to  hear 
him. 

While  this  colloquy  went  on,  Russell  had  been  an  atten 
tive  listener,  though  busy  brushing  the  rain  from  his 
clothes.  Suddenly  he  whispered  in  Stackpole's  ear,  "I  am 
going  to  preach  for  them,"  and  immediately  folding  his 
umbrella  and  carrying  it  on  his  arm,  he  walked  slowly  up 
the  aisle  and  ascended  the  pulpit.  Scared  by  this  audacious 
act,  Stackpole  hesitated  to  enter  the  body  of  the  house,  but 
at  last  walked  in,  taking  the  least  conspicuous  seat  he  could 
find.  It  was  some  relief  to  him,  he  hardly  knew  why,  to 
see  the  house  darkened  by  the  storm,  which  had  now  reached 
a  great  height,  the  rain  pouring  in  torrents  and  almost 
blinding  the  window-panes. 

"How  in  the  world,"  he  asked  himself,  "is  he  to  get  on 
with  a  sermon  suitable  to  this  audience?"  He  had  heard 
Russell  say  more  than  once  that  he  should  like  a  chance  to 
preach  a  "red-hot  Calvinistic  sermon,"  but  he  had  thought 
this  a  joke.  He  felt  assured  of  his  power  of  elocution, 
which  was  of  a  high  order,  but  where  was  he  to  find  proper 
matter  for  a  sermon? 

He  had  not  long  to  speculate ;  for  Russell  soon  rose,  and, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  long  accustomed  to  the  pulpit,  began 
the  service.  He  went  through  this  smoothly  and  as  im 
pressively  as  the  meagre  formulary  would  admit,  and  began 
the  sermon.  The  first  words  of  the  text,  enunciated  in 
Russell's  clear  musical  voice,  scared  Stackpole  afresh  with 
what  seemed  a  blasphemous  pun  suggested  by  the  storm: 
"The  Lord  reigneth — let  the  people  tremble." 


A  Merry  Journey  351 

It  is  not  intended  to  reproduce  at  this  day  an  old-fash 
ioned  Calvinistic  sermon,  but  only  to  offer  such  a  sketch  of 
it  as  may  help  to  picture  the  scene  here  presented.  The 
discourse  was  thoroughly  sound  on  all  the  points  of  faith, 
the  clearing  up  of  which  occupied  the  first  part.  "Effectual 
Calling,"  which  has  been  sueh  a  fruitful  subject  for  dispu 
tation,  and  upon  which  even  ministers  have  been  known  to 
come  to  blows,  was  handled  deftly  and  smoothly,  if  not  with 
entire  clearness.  Stackpole  listened  with  great  attention  to 
this,  but,  somehow,  lost  the  thread  of  the  argument,  and, 
though  all  was  done  in  a  logic-chopping  style,  and  conclud 
ed  with  a  Q.E.D.  air  that  seemed  conclusive,  yet  at  the  end 
his  mind  was  left  perplexed  in  the  extreme.  But  what  was 
obscure  to  him  seemed  clear  to  two  old  men  sitting  in  front 
of  him,  who  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  and  nodded  em 
phatic  approval. 

Russell  reached  now  what  was  indeed  the  heart  of  the 
sermon — that  upon  which  he  chiefly  relied  for  an  impres 
sion  upon  the  audience — the  fate  of  the  unbeliever  who 
obstinately  rejects  the  one  way  of  salvation.  At  this  point 
a  man  entered  the  house,  manifestly  driven  in,  as  he  and 
Stackpole  had  been,  by  stress  of  weather.  He  was  a  man 
of  middle  age  and  middle  stature,  with  dark  hair  and  dark 
eyes,  dressed  in  a  faded  blue-cloth  coat  with  tarnished  gilt 
buttons,  light-drab  pantaloons  well  worn  and  marked  with 
grease  spots,  and  a  white  vest  and  ruffled  shirt-bosom 
stained  by  tobacco.  His  face  was  clean-shaven,  but  red 
with  unquestionable  marks  of  intemperance,  and  his  gait, 
as  he  walked  along  the  aisle,  making  a  noise  with  the  heels 
of  his  unblackened  boots,  and  sprinkling  the  floor  with  the 
water  from  a  broken  drab  beaver  hat  with  a  badge  of 
mourning  on  it,  which  he  swung  before  him  like  a  censer, 
showed  that  he  was  then  under  the  influence  of  whisky. 
Russell  said  afterward  that  he  recognized  him  at  once  as 
a  country  raff,  and  that  he  saw  all-fours,  twenty-card  poker, 
nine-pins,  whisky-straight,  and  quarter-races  all  over  him. 
He  walked  up  the  aisle  until  he  found  a  seat  in  line  with 
the  pulpit,  where  he  reclined  against  the  wall,  and  soon 
fell  asleep. 

Stackpole  was  now  quite  free  from  solicitude  about  the 


352  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

success  of  Eussell's  strange  adventure.  He  had  seen  all 
over  the  house  marks  of  approbation  among  the  audience. 
The  only  remaining  ground  of  apprehension,  the  possible 
coming  of  the  other  preacher,  was  disappearing  as  the  time 
wore  on,  and  now  the  increasing  violence  of  the  storm, 
with  almost  incessant  thunder  and  lightning,  put  this 
contingency  out  of  the  question.  His  mind  being  thus  re 
lieved,  he  was  enabled  to  give  his  whole  attention  to  the 
sermon,  which  he  always  declared  was  one  of  the  most 
"effective"  discourses  he  had  ever  heard. 

After  the  fashion  of  the  emotional  preachers  of  the  day, 
Russell  had  arraigned  the  conventional  sinner,  that  crea 
ture  of  straw  they  were  accustomed  to  make  up  for  the  oc 
casion,  and  endow  with  all  the  bad  qualities  that  belong  to 
humanity,  and  stain  with  all  the  sins  of  which  the  flesh  is 
capable,  and  he  was  now  buffeting  this  figure,  to  the  mani 
fest  satisfaction  of  his  audience.  He  gave  it  unusual  vital 
ity  by  frequent  glances  at  the  sleeping  man  below,  thus 
keeping  up  in  the  minds  of  his  hearers  a  close  connection 
between  the  imaginary  culprit  he  was  belaboring  and  the 
live  sinner  before  him.  While  he  was  thus  engaged,  there 
leaped  into  the  house  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning,  followed 
instantly  by  thunder  so  sharp  and  rattling  that  it  startled 
the  whole  audience,  bringing  many  to  their  feet,  and  awak 
ened  the  sleeper.  The  preacher  made  a  solemn  pause,  and, 
stretching  out  his  hand,  and  shaking  it  with  the  palm 
toward  him,  said,  slowly  and  solemnly :  "THERE  SHALL  BE 
NO  SLEEPING  IN  HELL  I"  (A  modern  reporter  would  here 
write — Sensation. ) 

And  now  again  falling  upon  the  straw  sinner,  but  keep 
ing  an  eye  upon  the  live  culprit  below,  he  banged  him  and 
basted  and  belabored  him,  and  finally,  denouncing  against 
him  all  the  stored  vengeances  of  Heaven,  he  shook  him  over 
the  mouth  of  hell — and  heaved  him  in ! 

The  audience  seemed  to  catch  a  long  breath  as  he  con 
cluded.  They  looked  about,  each  curious  to  see  the  effect 
upon  his  neighbor.  Admiration  and  approval  were  mani 
fested  all  over  the  house.  But  there  were,  among  the 
young  people,  faces  marked  by  gloom  and  even  terror. 
The  two  old  men  who  sat  in  front  of  Stackpole  again 


A  Merry  Journey  353 

looked  into  each  other's  eyes  and  nodded  emphatic  ap 
proval.  One  of  them,  who  had  held  his  hand  to  his  ear 
during  the  sermon,  asked  the  other  a  question  which  was 
answered  in  a  slow,  drawling  voice,  with  a  rising  inflec 
tion,  audible  half  over  the  house,  "I  do-a-n't  know,  Ander 
son,  who  he  is,  but  he's  deep  in  doctrine." 

Then  Bussell  gave  out  the  hymn  from  the  book  on  the 
desk,  reading  it  with  dramatic  effect : 

"'Hark!  hark!  my  soul,  what's  this  I  hear? 
What  doleful  cries  assail  my  ear? 
What  lamentation  from  below — 
The  place  to  which  the  damned  go? 

"  "Pis  the  lost  sinner  in  hie  chains, 
Ingulfed  in  woe,  and  racked  with  pains; 
Plunged  in  a  sulphurous  lake  of  fire, 
Pressed  down  beneath  Jehovah's  ire. 

"  'He  says,  "I'm  gone,  forever  gone, 
My  wretched  soul  is  now  undone; 
I'm  full  of  hell,  and  devils  are 
Tormenting  me  with  keen  despair." 

"  'Come,  then,  poor  sinners,  warning  take, 
Before  you  reach  the  burning  lake; 
Repent,  before  it  be  too  late, 
Or  you  must  share  his  awful  fate.' " 

Then  starting  the  hymn,  and  singing  the  first  verse,  and 
getting  the  audience  under  way,  he  walked  slowly  down 
from  the  pulpit,  and,  Stackpole  joining  him,  they  went  out. 
The  clouds  were  breaking  away,  but  the  rain  was  still  fall 
ing  lightly. 

After  leaving  the  church  Stackpole  and  Russell  rode  for 
some  distance  in  silence,  broken  at  last  by  Eussell  asking 
Stackpole  what  he  thought  of  the  sermon.  Having  told 
him  of  the  compliment  paid  by  the  old  men,  Stackpole  said, 
"You  are  fishing  for  compliments,  I  suppose.  Well,  as  a 
caricature,  I  thought  it  first  rate." 

"Caricature?" 

"Yes ;  I  have  never  been  in  the  habit  of  hearing  sermons 
of  a  sensational  kind,  but  I  think  it  must  certainly  be  an 
exaggeration  of  that  style/' 


354  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  You  may  hear  just  such  sermons  as 
that  any  day  when  one  of  these  great  revivals  is  on  foot. 
What  did  you  think  of  my  exposition  of  Effectual  Calling  ?" 

"I  didn't  understand  it." 

"Just  what  I  feared.  Now  hear  me  attentively  and  I 
will  make  it  plain."  Here  Eussell  pulled  up  his  horse  and 
took  a  chop-logic  attitude. 

"No,  you  don't/'  said  Staekpole.  "I  won't  listen ;  I  don't 
want  to  hear  any  more  on  the  subject.  I  can't  stand  it." 

"Now,  see  here,"  turning  up  his  cuffs,  "Effectual  Call 
ing—" 

"I  won't  hear  it,  I  tell  you.  It's  out  of  the  question.  I 
listened  to  you  attentively  this  morning.  I  tried  to  take 
it  in,  but  could  not;  and  I  felt  as  if  something  had  given 
way  in  my  brain.  You  must  not  go  over  that  again !" 

"Well,  now,  see  here — " 

"No,  I  won't  hear  it.  I'll  sing  'The  Sea'  if  you  say  an 
other  word." 

"Well,  now  here—" 

"Here,  too : 

"  'The  sea,  the  sea,  the  open  sea, 
The  wide,  the  fwesh,  the  evah  fwee, 
The  evah,  eyah  fwee-e-e-e — ' " 

"Good  heaven !  Stackpole,  stop  that !" 

"  'Without  a  mah-uk,  without  a  bound, 

It  wunneth  the  wahtuhs  wide  we-gions  wound; 
It  p-1-a-y-s  with  the  clouds,  it  m-o-c-k-s  the  skies. 
And  like  a  quadled  queecha  lies.' " 

"Have  mercy,  Stackpole !" 

Then  facing  Kussell,  as  he  lay  on  his  horse's  neck  in  an 
affected  helpless  attitude,  and  grasping  his  whip  as  a 
truncheon,  and  assuming  a  melodramatic  attitude,  Stack- 
pole,  with  good  accent  and  expression,  exclaimed : 

"  'Eithah  he  patient  and  entweat  me  fai-ah, 
Au  with  the  clamowous  wepote  of  w-a-h-h-h-h, 
Thus  will  I  dwown  yoah  exclamations!'" 

('I  give  up,"  said  Russell.  "I  can  stand  anything  but 
that  song  with  all  the  r's  ripped  from  it.  How  in  the  world 


A  Merry  Journey  355 

did  you  ever  take  a  fancy  to  a  song  so  full  of  impediments 
to  you?" 

"I  took  it  for  practice.  It  is  a  great  deal  better  than 
that  old  hackneyed  line  'unwestwicted,  unwestwained, 
fwee,'  because  the  difficult  sounds  occur  at  intervals  and 
somewhat  unexpectedly/' 

This  fooling  ended,  they  rode  away  in  silence  till  Stack- 
pole  said,  "Russell,  I  think  it  was  carrying  a  joke  pretty 
far  to  fly  in  the  face  of  people's  religious  faith,  as  you  did 
to-day,  making  light  of  what  they  deem  sacred,  'mocking 
their  solemn  solemnities,'  assuming  the  functions  of  a  suc 
cessor  of  the  Apostles — by  Jove,  that  was  rather  too  bad !" 

"It  may  be  a  little  out  of  the  way,  Stackpole,  but  you 
need  not  speak  of  it  in  such  strong  terms.  'Rather  too  bad/ 
indeed!  Those  sectarians  have  no  more  right  to  preach 
the  gospel  than  I  have.  They  lack  the  Apostolic  Succes 
sion.  Besides,  they  preach  such  a  horrible  doctrine  of 
eternal  punishment  in  lakes  of  fire  and  sulphur,  that  I 
consider  it  a  solemn  duty,  in  the  interest  of  true  religion, 
to  make  war  upon  them,  as  I  would  upon  heathen  idolaters. 
Thinking  that  they  possess  the  only  way  to  salvation,  they 
go  on  dealing  out  damnation  to  all  the  world  beside,  con 
signing  to  hell  and  its  tortures  even  young  children  and  the 
countless  millions  that  have  died  in  ignorance  of  Christ. 
What  a  libel  on  the  good  God  of  Heaven !  Him  whose 
mercy  endureth  forever!  They  degrade  Him  even  below 
the  gods  of  the  heathen,  converting  Him  into  a  fearful 
being,  before  whom  Moloch  and  all  pagan  deities  'pale 
their  uneffectual  fires!" 

"Admitting  this  to  be  all  true,  what  good  did  you  expect 
from  taking  possession  of  their  pulpit  and  preaching  to 
them  the  same  doctrine?" 

"I  thought  that  maybe  they  would  gag  at  such  an  un 
common  dose  of  brimstone  as  I  should  give  them,  but  they 
did  not.  They  took  it  in  like  maple  sugar  candy.  When 
I  described  to  them  the  tortures  of  the  damned,  I  saw 
their  eyes  glisten,  some  of  them  partly  rising  from  their 
seats,  in  their  intense  enjoyment  of  the  broil.  I  would 
not  have  been  surprised  if  they  had  sprung  to  their  feet 
and  sounded  the  scalp-halloo.  They  don't  want  ft  sinner 


356  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

saved,  except  by  their  exclusive  process!  There  is  an 
element  of  hate  in  their  very  religious  faith.  Looking  upon 
those  who  reject  their  dogmas  as  atheists — enemies  of  God 
— and  themselves  as  God's  exclusive  champions,  they  think 
it  their  duty  to  hate  and  persecute  them.  They  not  only 
hate  what  they  call  false  doctrine,  but  hate  also  those  who 
hold  that  doctrine;  like  the  man  that  not  only  did  not  like 
lobster,  but  did  not  like  any  man  that  did  like  lobster." 

"If  I  understand  you,  you  were  fighting  the  devil  with 
fire ;  and  certainly  you  did  give  them  an  uncommon  dose 
to-day.  You  must  have  been  studying  their  books — you 
don't  go  to  their  churches  ?" 

"No,  I  don't  go  to  their  meeting-houses,  nor  read  their 
books,  now.  But  in  my  childhood  I  was  trained  and  disci 
plined  in  their  faith,  with  all  its  horrors.  I  thought  once 
that  the  souls  of  all,  except  those  that  could  and  would 
follow  the  narrow  way  they  claim  to  occupy  exclusively, 
would  burn  forever  in  hell.  Of  course  this  meant  that  the 
great  bulk  of  mankind  was  predestined  to  this  fate.  I  have 
lain  awake  half  the  night,  after  hearing  one  of  their  terri 
ble  sermons,  thinking  on  its  horrors,  and  so  completely 
wretched  that  I  lamented  that  I  had  been  born.  I  shall 
never  forget  the  misery  of  those  early  years.  As  I  grew 
older,  my  mind  revolted  from  these  ghastly  doctrines,  and 
in  doing  that  revolted  from  all  religion.  For  years  I  se 
cretly  detested  the  whole  subject,  and,  though  compelled 
to  go  to  their  preaching  and  prayer-meetings,  I  sat  under 
their  teaching  with  a  smothered  wrath,  such  as  I  hope 
never  to  feel  again.  They  poisoned  nearly  all  the  years  of 
my  boy  life,  and  handed  me  over  to  infidelity—atheism,  if 
such  a  thing  be  possible." 

Stackpole's  face  grew  serious  as  he  listened  to  this  talk 
from  a  habitual  joker,  and  saw  the  flush  of  strong  feeling 
upon  his  dark  face.  He  made  no  response,  and  they  rode 
for  soma  time  in  silence,  each  communing  with  his  own 
thoughts.  After  a  time  Kussell  resumed  the  subject,  say 
ing,  "I  cannot  help  thinking  of  the  unfortunate  waif  that 
drifted  into  the  house  to-day.  What  hope  for  a  better  life 
can  he  have,  if  dependent  upon  their  teaching  ?  One  thing 


A  Merry  Journey  357 

I  know:  they  will  never  move  him  by  the  terrors  of  the 
law.  I  tried  him  to-day  to  my  satisfaction." 

"You  came  pretty  near  scaring  me,  while  you  were  bom 
barding  him.  How  did  he  look?" 

"Look?  Why,  do  you  know  that  while  I  was  doing  my 
very  best  upon  him,  after  that  clap  of  thunder,  when  I 
thought  to  make  him  shake  in  his  boots,  he  winked  at  me ! 
Confound  the  fellow,  he  came  near  putting  me  out!  I 
thought  maybe  he  knew  me/' 

"He  gat  a  cold  reception  from  the  congregation." 

"Yes;  they  glared  at  him  as  if  he  were  a  wolf  stealing 
into  the  fold." 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  a  horse's  feet  was  heard 
behind  them,  a  voice  called  out,  "How  do  you  do,  gentle 
men/'  and  the  individual  of  whom  they  were  talking, 
mounted  upon  a  very  large  sorrel  horse  with  his  tail  neatly 
"clubbed,"  rode  up  beside  them.  The  travelers  were  some 
what  embarrassed  by  his  presence,  and  at  a  loss  how  to 
receive  him.  Russell  resolved  not  to  recognize  him  or 
admit  that  he  had  seen  him  in  the  church.  So  he  said 
something  commonplace  about  the  storm  and  the  weather 
probabilities.  But  the  mind  of  the  gentleman  was  upon 
the  event  of  the  day.  After  looking  over  their  horses  rap 
idly  and  keenly,  and  seeing  no  points  in  either  of  them,  he 
began  to  talk  about  the  sermon  and  the  congregation: 
"Seems  to  me,  gentlemen,  that  you  left  quite  unceremoni 
ous  to-day:  the  brethren  was  looking  for  you  high  and 
low." 

"Ah  \"  said  Russell,  "were  you  in  the  congregation  to 
day?" 

"Well,  I  should  think  you  ought  to  know  I  was  there.  I 
set  right  under  you,  and  I  thought  that  your  whole  entire 
sermon  was  p'inted  right  squar'  at  me — in  the  cool !  It 
ain't  the  first  time  I  have  been  under  fire  in  that  house, 
but  yours  was  the  all-firedest  hottest  fire  I  ever  was  under ! 
Now,  gentlemen,  I  suppose  you  are  both  preachers,  and 
I'm  a  poor-devil  sinner,  and  you'll  think  it  mighty  cool 
in  me  to  give  you  advice.  But  if  you'll  think  a  minute 
you'll  see  that  I'm  the  very  man  to  give  you  instruction. 
Your  business  is  to  catch  sinners;  and  I  should  like  to 


358  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

know  who  can  tell  you  better  how  to  catch  them  than 
sinners  themselves.  You  know  it  takes  a  rogue  to  catch 
a  rogue,  and  'old  smugglers  make  the  best  custom-house 
officers/  and  I've  always  heard  that  preachers  that  had 
been  pretty  hard  cases  themselves  make  the  best  hands  at 
ropin'  in  the  wicked.  Now,  when  I  come  into  that  church 
to-day,  I  had  no  idea  of  gittin'  religion;  because  I've  been 
thar  before,  and  I  know  thar  ain't  any  thar  for  me.  But 
when  I  come  thar,  which  I  did  to  get  shut  of  the  rain,  why 
didn't  you  show  some  sort  of  an  openin'  for  me,  and  not 
close  up  your  cheers — as  you  did — not  leavin'  me  a  seat 
at  the  table?  Now,  that's  the  way  I've  always  found  it,  at 
that  church.  Freeze-out  is  the  game  thar.  They  looked 
at  me  as  much  as  to  say,  'We've  got  a  soft  thing  here,  and 
a  sure  thing,  and  you  want  to  git  in,  do  you?  You  want 
some  of  this  chicken  pie.'  I  don't  know  if  you  are  much 
acquainted  with  the  congregation,  as  you  never  preached 
here  before,  I  reckon.  But — I — tell — you  they  are  a  h-a-r-d 
set,  they  are — in  the  cool !  And  now,  since  there's  been  a 
couple  of  strange  preachers  through  here  whoopin'  'em  up, 
they  are  more  streenious  than  ever.  Now,  gentlemen,  that's 
not  the  way  to  do — that  is,  if  you  want  such  as  I  am  to 
come  in  at  all.  It  looks,  though,  like  they'd  rather  have 
me  for  fuel  than  for  salvation !  Now,  I  sometimes  go  to 
the  Methodist  church,  and  thar  they  come  forward  and 
welcome  me,  and  shake  hands,  and  beg  me  to  accept  the 
invitation  of  the  good  Lord,  and  encourage  the  good  f  eelin' 
that  made  me  come  among  them;  and  I  have  always  felt 
that  I  was  among  good  people  that  wanted  every  sinner 
to  have  a  show.  I  once  got  on  the  anxious  seat,  and  I  hope 
I  may  some  day  be  with  'em  for  good  and  all,  and  leave 
behind  my  bad  ways ;  I  do  in — indeed !  I'm  goin',  now, 
down  to  the  big  camp  meetin'.  I  hope  I  may  get  religion ; 
for  my  heart  always  softened  before  their  lovin'  kindness." 
Here  he  pulled  up  his  horse  and  added,  "But  all  the  devils 
in  hell  can't  skeer  me  into  it ;  I  tell  you  that — in  the  cool !" 
Then  bidding  them  farewell  he  went  his  way  on  a  branch 
road. 

The  travelers  again  lapsed  into  long  silence,  which  was 
broken  at  last  by  Stackpole.     "Kussell,"  said  he,  "didn't 


A  Merry  Journey  359 

you  tell  me  that  the  speech  of  the  people  of  Kentucky  is 
entirely  free  from  provincialisms — that  good  English  is 
universally  spoken  by  them — that  they  speak  better  English 
than  the  English  themselves?"^ 

"Yes,  I  did,  and  I  say  so  again.    Why  do  you  ask  ?" 

"Because  I  think  the  English  of  our  late  companion 
would  hardly  pass  muster  among  any  average  English- 
speaking  people.  What  do  you  think  of  that  phrase 
'whooped-up'  ?" 

"Whooped-up  ?  It  is  legitimate  English.  Whooped-up  is 
good.  It  is  made  of  two  very  common  English  words.  It 
is  a  figurative  expression,  and  very  forcible.  You  would 
be  at  no  loss  to  understand  its  force,  if  you  had  ever  been 
chased  by  Indians  giving  the  war-whoop  at  every  step  be 
hind  you.  You  will  hear  a  good  deal  of  figurative  speech 
among  our  people.  You  will  hear,  for  instance,  that  Pren 
tice  has  tomahawked  Shad  Penn  or  some  other  victim;  or 
both  tomahawked  and  scalped  them.  These  are  very  strong 
expressions.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  they  ought  to  be 
at  once  incorporated  with  the  language,  but  only  allowed 
to  take  their  chance  with  other  new  words  and  phrases 
that  are  constantly  coming  forward.  Meantime,  in  collo 
quial  use  they  are  very  expressive — highly  figurative — and 
attest  the  poetic  cast  of  the  Kentucky  mind.  'Come  to 
think  of  it/  as  you  say,  this  phrase  is  used  by  Shakespeare. 
Coriolanus  says  he  was  Vhooped  out  of  Rome  by  slaves/ '' 

"I  believe  you  are  right.  But  what  do  you  think  of  the 
word  'streenious'  ?  You  remember  that  he  said  that  the 
congregation  since  they  had  been  'whooped-up'  by  those 
new  preachers  had  become  more  'streenious'  than  before: 
is  it  good  English?" 

"Now,  Stackpole,  as  you  are  a  Yankee  you  can't  object 
to  my  answering  your  question  by  another.  What  do  you 
think  he  meant  by  that  word  'streenious'  ?" 

"It  is  a  new  word  to  me,  and  I  can  only  exercise  my  pe 
culiar  Yankee  faculty  and  guess." 

"Well,  as  you  guess?" 

"I  guess  he  meant  that  the  congregation,  having  been 
'whooped-up'  by  the  new  preachers,  had  become  more — par 
ticular — more  exacting — more — strict — " 


360  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"Now,  let  me  interrupt  you  for  a  moment,  and  give  you 
time  to  find  some  word  that  will  better  express  the  idea. 
Meantime,  I  will  state  the  case  a  little  more  fully  than  you 
did.  He  said  that,  having  been  'whooped-up' ;  that  is,  hav 
ing  had  their  fears  quickened  by  the  terrible  utterances 
of  these  new  preachers — utterances  as  terrible  in  their  ears 
as  the  war-whoop  of  Indians  behind  a  fugitive  for  life,  they 
had  become  more — what?  More  particular?  More  exact 
ing?  More  strict?  Not  for  a  moment;  no  such  common 
place  words  will  answer  here.  They  would  make  a  horrible 
bathos.  No,  sir;  more  'streenious' 7  I  confess  the  word  is 
new  to  me,  but  it  conveys  a  distinct  impression  neverthe 
less.  It  strikes  me  like  that  strange  phrase  in  Shakespeare, 
'cold  obstruction.'  '' 

"It  strikes  me  in  the  same  way ;  and  I  don't  believe  that 
Shakespeare  ever  wrote  such  nonsense.  I  believe  he  wrote 
'cold  abstraction.'" 

"Well,  well ;  if  you  couple  us  with  Shakespeare,  in  your 
criticism,  I  rest  content." 

Here  they  came  upon  a  house  by  the  roadside,  and  Stack- 
pole  proposed  to  inquire  how  far  they  were  from  the  Frank 
fort  pike.  Accordingly  he  rode  up  to  the  fence  in  front  of 
the  log  cabin,  where  a  woman  stood  by  the  door  with  a  lit 
tle  flaxen-haired  child  by  her  side,  and  removing  his  hat 
in  salutation,  said,  "How  fah  is  it,  madam,  to  the  Fwank- 
fortpike?" 

The  woman  advanced  a  step  from  the  door,  and  an 
swered,  "Whad  did  you  saye?" 

Stackpole  repeated  the  inquiry,  when,  with  a  startled 
look,  she  lifted  her  child  by  the  arm  and  went  into  the 
house,  and  closed  the  door,  and  the  travelers,  wondering  at 
this,  rode  away. 

Pretty  soon  they  came  to  another  house,  where  their  hail 
brought  out  two  women  and  a  half  dozen  white-haired  chil 
dren,  of  various  sizes.  Stackpole  rode  up  to  the  fence,  and 
made  the  same  inquiry  as  before.  After  having  repeated  it 
and  failed  to  get  an  answer,  the  women  gaping  at  each 
other  with  puzzled  faces,  Russell  rode  up,  saying  in  an 
undertone,  "Let  me  speak  to  them ;  this  is  a  North  Carolina 


A  Merry  Journey  361 

settlement;  they  don't  understand  you.  I  have  traveled  in 
that  State  and  know  the  language." 

Then  he  called  out,  "Saye !  you  uns,  how  fur  mought  it 
be  to  the  Frankfort  big  road  ?" 

"Oh  V  said  one  of  the  women,  brightening  up,  "if  s  nigh 
onto  thirrerteen  mile.-" 

Eussell  thanked  them  and,  riding  away,  said  with  em 
phasis,  "What  a  strange  lingo  those  North  Carolinians 
make  of  the  English  language  I" 

The  remainder  of  the  journey  to  Frankfort  afforded 
nothing  of  special  interest.  The  travelers  were  weary  and 
rode  for  the  most  part  in  silence,  each  absorbed  in  his  own 
reflections  or  in  observing  the  face  of  the  country,  which, 
as  they  neared  the  valley  of  the  Kentucky  River,  became 
more  and  more  uneven  and  picturesque;  rolling  away  be 
fore  them  in  vast  billows  of  yellow  stubble  or  shining  blue- 
grass,  or  shadowed  by  the  high  arches  of  the  primitive 
forest;  and  as  they  came  still  nearer  to  the  river,  there 
appeared  deep  gorges  and  dark  purple  glens,  and  abrupt 
heights  fringed  with  cedars. 

At  last  they  reached  the  Frankfort  big  road,  when  their 
horses  pricked  up  their  ears  and  took  a  livelier  gait,  con 
scious  that  a  place  of  rest  and  food  was  at  hand.  Just  at 
sunset  they  reached  the  crest  of  the  hill  that  overlooks  the 
capital  from  the  south,  where  a  view  expanded  before  their 
eyes  which  impelled  them  to  check  their  horses  and  pause 
in  admiration  and  delight.  The  chronicler  will  not  at 
tempt  to  paint  the  marvelous  beauty  of  that  scene  of  hill 
and  valley  and  winding  river,  having  no  gift  that  way. 
The  travelers  were  so  absorbed  in  its  contemplation  that 
they  did  not  for  some  time  perceive  what  lay  beneath  them 
in  a  grassy  woodland  on  their  right  hand,  a  gathering  of 
hundreds  of  people,  men,  women  and  children,  with  tents 
and  booths  and  fires,  in  a  camp-meeting. 

"Why,  Russell,"  exclaimed  Stackpole,  "here  are  our  old 
friends,  the  Methodists !" 

In  another  moment  there  rose,  swelling  out  of  the  valley, 
music  from  more  than  a  hundred  voices  in  harmony,  sing 
ing  that  finest  of  all  the  sacred  songs  of  the  gentle  brethren, 
"We  shall  meet  by  the  beautiful  river."  With  a  start  of 


362  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

pleasure  Eussell  and  Stackpole  recognized  and  united  in 
singing  the  fine  hymn.  Blending  their  voices  with  the 
sacred  harmony,  they  rode  slowly  in  the  shadow  of  the  hill 
down  the  long,  graded  declivity.  Soon  they  reached  the 
level  plain  below  and  the  wooden  bridge  that  spans  the 
river,  when  Eussell  gave  the  ancient  warder  there  the 
countersign,  which  was  a  cut  ninepence,  and  they  passed 
over  the  bridge  into  the  town. 


CHAPTEE  XXXV 

THE   CIECUS 

"They  strike  their  tents,  like  the  Tartars,  and  away! 
The  place  grows  bare  where  they  so  long  remain. 
But  grass  will  rise  ere  they  return  again." 

— CBABBK. 

OUE  travelers  were  surprised  to  see  a  great  multitude  of 
people  on  foot  and  on  horseback  crowding  the  streets  of 
the  capital.  They  went  at  once  to  the  "Mansion  House," 
where  they  were  informed  by  Mr.  Taylor  (Hopping  Dick) 
that  he  could  not  give  them  rooms,  nor  even  a  room  for  the 
night.  Such  was  the  throng  of  people  that  had  suddenly 
poured  into  the  town,  that  every  room  in  his  house  was 
occupied;  and  sending  in  their  behalf  an  application  to 
the  other  taverns,  these  were  all  found  in  the  same  crowded 
state.  Then  Mr.  Taylor  bethought  him  of  a  small  unfur 
nished  room,  in  the  upper  story,  where  cots  or  a  pallet 
might  be  provided,  and  where  he  thought  they  might  be 
made  comfortable  for  one  night.  Content  with  this  as 
surance,  they  got  their  supper,  and  then  went  out  to 
explore  the  town,  and  to  learn  the  meaning  of  the  extraor 
dinary  influx  of  people  there. 

They  found  crowds  besetting  the  pavements  everywhere. 
The  long  rows  of  wooden  racks,  esealloped  between  the  pegs 
by  the  teeth  of  horses,  were  strung  with  the  nags  of  coun 
try  people.  Groups  of  men  occupied  the  corners  of  the 
streets,  and  sat  upon  the  goods  boxes  by  the  store  doors, 
and  upon  the  curbstones,  and  upon  every  place  where  a 
seat  could  be  had.  On  a  vacant  lot  behind  the  State-House 
a  bonfire  was  kindled,  around  which  was  assembled  a  large 
number  of  the  youth  of  the  town,  white  and  black,  feeding 
its  flames.  People  were  still  coming  into  the  place  on  all 
the  roads  that  entered  it,  on  horseback  and  in  vehicles. 

363 


364  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Every  horseman  coming  from  the  east  was  immediately 
surrounded  and  eagerly  questioned  for  news.  Various  an 
swers  were  given,  such  as,  "Just  beyond  the  forks" ;  then, 
"Just  this  side  of  the  forks" ;  and  at  last,  "Right  out  at  the 
brick  tavern."  A  countryman  standing  near  Eussell  and 
Stackpole,  with  his  ear  cocked  to  the  east,  was  heard  to  say, 
"I  hear  the  wagons.  I'd  know  the  cluck  of  them  wheels  in 
Kamskatky." 

A  moment  after  there  was  a  great  commotion.  Throngs 
of  men  poured  toward  the  east  end  of  the  town,  footmen 
and  horsemen.  The  windows  along  the  street  flew  open, 
and  were  instantly  filled  with  the  heads  of  women  and 
children,  their  faces  full  of  eager  expectation.  Posted  ad 
vantageously  at  Weissiger's  Tavern  was  the  governor,  sur 
rounded  by  his  military  staff  and  the  judges  of  the  Appel 
late  Court.  Reader !  along  the  Georgetown  pike  the  Circus 
was  slowly  advancing  upon  Frankfort,  and  thus  "far  off 
its  coming  shone." 

This  was  the  famous  circus  of  Monsieur  Pepin,  long 
domiciled  at  The  Falls,  whence  in  summer  it  made  excur 
sions  to  Cincinnati  by  steamboat,  returning  by  land 
through  Kentucky,  and  pitching  its  tents  at  the  towns 
along  the  way.  It  was  a  circus  pure  and  simple,  without 
the  sideshows  of  beasts,  and  learned  pigs,  and  mounte 
banks,  and  giants  and  dwarfs,  and  other  monstrosities  that 
defile  the  modern  circus.  It  was  a  prime  favorite  with 
the  people  of  the  capital,  and  was  always  welcomed  there 
by  everybody,  from  the  governor  down,  as  were  the  "trage 
dians  of  the  city  by  the  court  at  Elsinore."  This  chron 
icler  owns  to  having  had  a  weakness  for  this  circus,  which 
he  well  remembers,  with  its  gaudy  trappings  and  barbaric 
splendor.  A  glamour  came  over  him  always,  with  the  smell 
of  the  sawdust  or  tanbark  and  the  flaring  oil  lamps.  The 
"grand  entree"  of  its  plumed  troop,  amidst  the  blast  of 
trumpets  and  the  clash  of  cymbals,  recalling  the  flowery 
days  of  Oriental  chivalry — the  royal  banner,  and  all  qual 
ity,  pride,  pomp  and  circumstance;  and  the  starry  beauty 
of  those  maiden  princesses,  Dona  Josepha  Garcia  and 
Mademoiselle  Celestine  Valliere,  riding  on  milk-white 
steeds,  always  led  him  captive.  How  much  more  sensibly 


The  Circus  365 

must  they  have  moved  these  gallant,  horse-loving,  rural 
Kentuckians,  to  whom  they  were  only  occasional  and 
transient  visitants,  flashing  before  them  like  meteors  of 
the  night,  or  like  angels  dropped  down  from  the  clouds 

"To  turn  and  wind  a  fiery  Pegasus, 
And  witch  the  world  with  noble  horsemanship," 

and  then  vanishing — leaving  behind  no  trace  but  the  deso 
late  ring,  where  the  grass  was  trodden  out;  which,  like 
those  "green  sour  ringlets"  that  the  fairies  make,  serve 
only  to  recall  the  enchantment  of  a  night! 

Russell  and  Stackpole  did  not  return  to  the  tavern  until 
a  late  hour  of  the  night.  Then,  tired  by  their  long  ride 
and  by  their  tour  about  the  town,  they  found  their  way 
to  the  room  promised  by  the  landlord.  They  found  there 
not  only  the  pallet  promised,  but  also  three  cots,  two  of 
which  were  already  occupied  by  sleepers.  Stackpole  at 
once  took  possession  of  the  vacant  cot,  leaving  the  ample 
pallet  to  Russell.  Both  had  got  into  bed,  and  Russell  was 
about  to  put  out  the  candle,  when  a  fifth  man  entered  the 
room,  pulling  off  his  coat  as  he  came  in.  He  was  a  young 
countryman,  as  Russell  plainly  saw  by  the  cut  of  his  roach. 
"My  dear  sir,"  said  Russell,  "where  do  you  propose  to 
sleep?" 

The  new  man,  having  cast  his  eyes  over  the  room,  an 
swered,  "I  reckon  I  shall  have  to  sleep  with  you.  I  don't 
see  any  other  chance." 

"Well,  come  on,"  said  Russell,  "I  suppose  there  is  no 
danger." 

"Danger  !"  said  the  new  man,  straightening  himself  with 
an  air ;  "what  kind  of  danger  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Well,  I  hardly  think  there  is  any  danger  now." 

Then  with  a  sudden  change  of  manner  the  new  man 
asked,  "Is  there  anything  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"No,  not  now." 

"Have  you  had  anything  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"Yes,  but  I've  been  well  for  some  time.  Come  on"  (mov 
ing  aside  to  make  room),  "I  think  you'll  be  quite  safe 
now." 

"What's  been  the  matter  with  you  ?"  said  the  other,  still 


366  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

holding  his  coat  in  his  hand  and  looking  uneasy,  and  all 
the  "timbre"  out  of  his  voice. 

"Well,  I've  had  the  smallpox,  but — " 

Before  he  could  utter  another  word  the  stranger  had 
fled  from  the  room. 

And  now  the  two  seeming  sleepers  in  the  cots  sprang 
into  sitting  postures.  Both  stared  at  Russell  with  wide 
eyes,  one  of  them  saying,  "Did  I  understand  you  to  say 
you  had  had  the  smallpox  ?" 

Russell  hesitated  for  some  moments,  during  which  the 
eyes  of  the  men  were  intently  fixed  upon  his  face,  their 
lips  apart — every  hair  in  their  roaches  listening!  At  last 
he  said,  speaking  slowly  and  solemnly,  "Yes,  gentlemen — " 

At  the  first  word  the  men  leaped  from  their  cots;  clap 
ping  on  their  hats,  and  slapping  their  boots  beneath  their 
left  arms,  and  scooping  up  their  garments,  they  fled  out  of 
the  door.  Then  Russell  got  up  and  closed  the  door  and 
locked  it. 

Stackpole,  from  his  cot,  had  been  an  attentive  and  inter 
ested  spectator  of  the  dramatic  scene  conjured  up  by  Rus 
sell's  mischief.  He  had  put  on  his  spectacles  (now  always 
kept  at  hand)  when  the  young  countryman  entered,  and 
had  a  clear  view  of  the  actors,  and  evidently  considered  it 
good  comedy.  His  eyes  were  now  glistening  behind  the 
glasses,  and  he  was  shaking  with  suppressed  laughter. 
After  a  while,  when  he  felt  assured  that  the  strangers  had 
got  out  of  hearing,  he  rose  from  the  cot,  and  broke  into 
such  uproarious  merriment  as  Russell  had  never  before 
seen  exhibited  by  his  apathetic  friend.  Then  Russell  put 
out  the  light,  and  disposed  himself  for  sleep.  But  Stack- 
pole  lay  a  long  time  awake,  breaking  out  at  intervals  in  gig 
gling  and  sputtering  laughter.  Then,  revolving  the  matter 
in  his  reflective  way,  serious  apprehensions  obtruded  them 
selves  upon  his  mind.  What  might  be  the  consequence  of 
sending  down  into  the  crowded  tavern  intelligence  that  an 
occupant  of  one  of  its  chambers  had  lately  recovered  from 
smallpox  ?  Might  not  those  frightened  countrymen  spread 
a  panic  through  the  house  and  the  town?  And  might  not 
the  town  authorities  take  the  matter  in  hand  and  put  them 
under  some  sort  of  quarantine  ?  Harassed  by  these  appre- 


The  Circus  367 

tensions,  he  resolved  to  communicate  them  to  Kussell,  and 
called  aloud  to  him,  but  found  that  he  was  fast  asleep. 

This  chronicler  does  not  know  whether,  after  the  lapse 
of  so  many  years,  the  circus  still  finds  a  warm  welcome  at 
the  capital.  But  that  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century 
after  the  time  of  which  he  writes,  these  shows  were  still 
held  in  high  esteem  by  the  greatest  dignitaries  there,  the 
following  facts  will  attest :  A  circus  company  was  leaving 
the  town,  and  the  horses  and  wagons  and  all  the  parapher 
nalia  had  passed  over  the  river,  when  the  elephant  (then 
become  an  attachment  to  the  circus),  refusing  -to  trust  his 
weight  upon  the  wooden  bridge,  it  became  necessary  that 
he  should  swim  the  river.  To  witness  this  came  a  great 
throng  of  people,  who  passed  noisily  by  the  courthouse, 
where  a  venerable  judge  was  presiding  over  the  trial  of  an 
important  case,  and  a  distinguished  lawyer  was  addressing 
the  jury.  Hearing  the  commotion  in  the  street,  the  ven 
erable  court  pricked  up  its  ears,  and,  learning  what  was 
afoot,  instantly  arrested  the  eloquent  counsel  in  his  ad 
dress,  saying,  "Suspend  your  argument,  if  you  please,  Mr. 
Lindsay.  The  elephant  is  about  to  swim  the  river.  I  have 
never  seen  an  elephant  swim  a  river.  I  am  an  old  man, 
and  I  may  never  have  another  opportunity.  Mr.  Sheriff, 
adjourn  the  court  for  two  hours.  Gentlemen  of  the  jury, 
you  can  go  and  see  the  show." 

A  moment  after  the  courtroom  was  empty;  the  last 
"0  yes !"  of  the  sheriff  being  uttered  as  he  flew  out  of  the 
door. 

Lest  the  chronicler,  in  relating  these  instances  of  the 
fondness  of  the  great  dignitaries  of  the  capital  for  shows, 
may  seem  to  intend  something  derogatory  to  them,  it 
should  suffice  to  remind  the  reader  that  a  certain  sim 
plicity  always  attends  true  greatness  of  mind,  and  to  cite 
examples  of  this  from  history,  as  Epaminondas,  and 
Socrates,  and  the  philosopher  Seneca  who  used  to  run  races 
with  a  young  slave  in  his  garden.  But  a  modern  instance 
will  perhaps  serve  better,  and  therefore  he  submits  what 
has  been  said  by  Lord  Brougham  of  the  great  Lord  Stowel, 
the  acute  author  of  the  celebrated  judgment  in  the  case  of 
Dalrymple  vs.  Dalrymple,  by  which  was  determined  the 


368  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

nice  point  of  what  constitutes  a  marriage  under  the  Scotch 
law.  Lord  Brougham  says,  "It  was  at  all  times  a  com 
mon  observation,  that  the  person  who  first  saw  any  sight 
exhibited  in  London,  be  it  production  of  nature  or  of  art,  or 
of  artifice  (for  he  would  condescend  to  see  even  the  juggler 
play  his  tricks),  was  Sir  William  Scott;  who  could  always 
steal,  for  such  relaxation,  an  hour  from  settling  the  gravest 
questions  raised  on  the  rights  of  nations  or  the  ecclesiastical 
law  of  the  land." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

\ 

THE  PEESS 

"Is  it  not  beautiful  to  see  five  million  quintals  of  rags 
picked  annually  from  the  gutter,  and  annually,  after  being 
macerated,  hot-pressed,  printed  on,  and  sold,  returned  thither, 
filling  so  many  hungry  mouths  by  the  way?" 

AMONG  the  notable  things  in  Frankfort  are  its  printing 
offices.  Two  newspapers  have  always  been  maintained 
there,  and  sometimes  as  many  as  four,  while  Lexington 
and  The  Falls,  each  claiming  to  be  the  commercial  em 
porium  of  the  State,  could  not  at  any  time  maintain  more 
than  two,  one  of  which  had  only  a  sickly  existence,  and 
was  always  in  peril  of  starvation.  The  advantage  possessed 
by  Frankfort  consisted  in  the  great  amount  of  public  print 
ing  done  there.  The  multitudinous  acts  of  the  legislature, 
the  reports  of  its  various  committees,  the  messages  of  the 
governor,  the  reports  of  heads  of  departments  of  the  State 
government,  and  of  the  charitable  institutions,  all  these 
constituted  a  vast  fund  of  printing,  the  profits  from  which 
were  sufficient,  not  only  to  sustain  a  newspaper,  but  often 
to  place  its  proprietors  in  affluence.  The  desire  to  compete 
for  this  prize  assured  always  to  the  capital  an  adequate 
number  of  printing  offices  and  newspapers.  The  public 
printer,  elected  by  the  legislature,  had  then,  as  now,  the 
exclusive  privilege  of  doing  all  this  printing,  and  belonged, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  to  the  dominant  party ;  though,  when 
it  happened  that  parties  were  pretty  evenly  divided  in  the 
legislature,  or  when  some  "outside  barbarian,"  from  Lex 
ington  or  The  Falls,  entered  the  field,  adroit  compromises 
and  combinations  were  often  made  between  the  rival  papers 
at  the  capital  against  the  common  enemy.  But,  as  a  rule, 

369 


370  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

the  public  printing  was  always  in  the  hands  of  the  paper 
in  the  interest  of  the  dominant  party. 

Meantime,  the  unsuccessful  papers  kept  alive  as  they 
best  could,  starving  along  cheerfully  enough,  each  sus 
tained  by  the  hope  of  a  change  that  should  bring  its  eager 
muzzle  to  the  public  crib.  An  empty  stomach  is  always 
dispiriting,  but  it  did  not  dispirit  these  newspaper  men  for 
any  great  length  of  time.  After  defeat  they  were  sure  to 
addict  themselves  to  idyllic  topics,  "babbling  of  green 
fields,"  and  writing  chiefly  agricultural  matter ;  chronicling 
the  huge  beets  and  pumpkins  sent  in  by  their  country  sub 
scribers — solacing  themselves  with  these  delightful  homely 
topics.  Gradually  they  recovered  their  normal  tone,  and 
it  was  observed  that  their  zeal  for  the  public  service,  and 
their  acuteness  in  discovering  the  political  shortcoming  or 
profligacy  of  their  adversaries,  was  always  vastly  quickened, 
as  was  the  high  moral  sense  which  revolted  at  these,  by  a 
short  respite  and  a  light  regimen : 

"The  truth  that  flies  the  flowing  can 
Will  haunt  the  vacant  cup." 

And  so  these  unlucky  editors  went  on  with  their  accus 
tomed  work  cheerfully  enough,  reminding  people  of  those 
gay  cavaliers  in  Mexico,  who,  when  their  party  has  been 
put  down  by  a  bloodless  revolution  in  the  capital  there,  yet 
continue  to  prance  about  the  "Prado"  on  their  little,  fiery 
steeds,  awaiting  some  new  pronunciamento  which  shall 
bring  them  again  into  place. 

Every  visitor  to  the  capital  in  the  day  of  which  we  speak 
must  have  been  struck  with  the  great  profusion  of  public 
documents  found  there,  serving  for  wrapping  paper  and 
other  homely  uses.  Russell  and  Stackpole  found  them  lit 
erally  snowed  over  the  little  town.  If  they  lighted  a  cigar 
they  used  a  fragment  of  the  report  of  the  Register  of  the 
Land  Office;  a  piece  of  tobacco  purchased  was  wrapped  in 
a  sheet  of  the  governor's  message;  a  bottle  of  whisky 
bought  by  Stackpole,  "just  to  see  how  it  would  compare 
with  the  whisky  of  The  Falls,"  was  enclosed  in  the  report 
of  the  superintendent  of  the  lunatic  asylum.  Russell  made 
a  collection  of  these  documents,  and  took  them  to  their 


The  Press  371 

room  at  the  tavern,  where,  in  a  few  moments,  they  both 
fell  asleep  over  them.  To  this  day,  as  is  well  known,  these 
documents  have  upon  most  persons  a  soporific  effect.  Upon 
some  few  individuals  they  act  as  irritants,  exasperating 
them  in  such  a  degree  that  they  throw  them  away  in  a 
huff.  It  is  a  strange  fact  that  whoever  may  write  one  of 
these  State  papers,  whatever  may  be  his  reputation  as*  a 
writer  in  other  fields,  the  moment  he  undertakes  one  of 
these,  is  sure  to  fall  into  that  prolix,  drawling,  humdrum, 
droning  style,  which,  according  to  the  temperament  of  the 
reader,  puts  him  in  a  rage,  or  gently  composes  him  to  sleep. 
As  for  the  legislature,  for  whose  enlightenment  all  these 
documents  are  composed  and  printed,  no  member  was  ever 
known  to  read  one  of  them  through.  A  new  man  will 
make  an  honest  effort,  but  to  those  who  have  served  a  single 
term  the  general  title,  "Pub.  Doc.,"  is  enough. 

One  evening  Russell  and  Stackpole  were  present  at  a 
symposium  in  the  rooms  of  one  of  the  heads  of  depart 
ment,  in  which  most  of  the  leading  officials  participated, 
among  these  Mr.  Rattle,  the  Register  of  the  Land  Office,  an 
old  friend  of  Russell.  In  the  course  of  the  evening  there 
occurred,  between  one  of  these  officials  and  Rattle,  a  col 
loquy  by  which  a  little  more  light  was  thrown  upon  the 
lavish  use  of  paper  and  printer's  ink,  mentioned  above. 
"Rattle,"  said  the  official,  "your  report  last  year  was  en 
tirely  too  short.  I  hope  you  are  going  to  make  a  full  report 
next  season." 

"If  you  mean  a  longer  report  than  my  last,  I  don't  know 
how  I  am  to  do  it.  There  is  really  so  little  doing  in  my 
office  that  I  shall  have  hardly  anything  to  report.  I  be 
lieve  the  whole  of  it  may  be  put  on  three  pages." 

"Don't  talk  that  way,  for  mercy's  sake!  Three  pages? 
That  won't  do  at  all !  Let  me  tell  you  that  your  report,  last 
year,  made  a  very  bad  impression  in  both  houses.  Such  a 
meagre  document  makes  members  suspect  that  there  is  very 
little  work  in  your  office,  and  inclines  them  to  lower  the 
salary.  It  was  talked  about,  last  session;  and  it  was  as 
much  as  I  could  do  to  restrain  some  of  my  friends  from 
moving  in  the  house  to  reduce  the  salary,  or  to  take  away 
one  of  your  clerks,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing." 


372  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"You  are  right  there,"  said  Rattle,  "for  one  of  my  clerks 
is  just  no  clerk  at  all,  only  a  conventional  clerk  whose  pay 
is  one  of  my  perquisites — part  of  my  salary.  If  they  take 
away  my  real  clerk  they  had  as  well  shut  up  my  office,  for 
he  is  the  only  man,  in  or  out  of  it,  who  knows  anything 
of  its  business." 

•  "Goodness  gracious !"  exclaimed  the  official,  in  unaffect 
ed  amazement.  "Who  ever  heard  such  talk  from  a  govern 
ment  official?  Shut  up  a  department!  Think  of  your 
talking  in  that  way,  while  we've  all  been  thinking  how 
we  may  open  at  least  two  new  ones !  We  must  strengthen 
ourselves.  There  was  a  set  of  inquisitive  fellows  in  the 
house  last  session  (and  they  will  be  there  at  the  next  ses 
sion)  who  were  making  all  sorts  of  impertinent  and  dis 
agreeable  inquiries.  They  even  wanted  to  know  all  about 
the  fees  of  the  secretary  of  state — fees,  mark  you,  that 
don't  come  out  of  the  public  treasury,  but  out  of  individ 
uals.  Hang  it !  the  governor  can't  issue  a  batch  of  pardons, 
nor  remit  a  lot  of  fines,  nor  do  anything  that  puts  a  dollar 
in  the  pocket  of  the  secretary,  but  these  fellows  begin  to 
suspect  that  the  whole  thing  has  been  contrived  for  his 
benefit.  But  the  'Old  Chevalier5  was  a  match  for  them.  He 
didn't  answer  at  all  until  near  the  close  of  the  session,  and 
then  he  told  them  that  the  business  of  his  office  occupied 
all  his  time,  and  that  to  furnish  the  information  in  season 
would  require  the  services  of  twenty  clerks.  If  these  should 
be  furnished  he  would  be  happy  to  give  the  information 
required.  That  was  the  last  of  that  business !  And  that's 
the  way  for  every  incumbent  to  act.  His  first  duty  is  to 
stand  up  for  his  department  and  all  its  emoluments ;  then 
to  stand  by  the  co-ordinate  departments.  And — let — me — 
tell — you,  that  nothing  helps  a  department  like  a  volumi 
nous  report,  properly  drawn  up.  Then,  if  assaults  are 
made  upon  your  office,  you  seek  the  member  complaining, 
and  ask  him,  T)id  you  read  my  report?'  He  is  sure  to 
answer  no,  for,  if  it  be  artistically  written,  no  member  can 
possibly  go  through  it.  And  then  you  have  him,  and  you 
express  a  just  surprise  and  a  virtuous  indignation,  that  a 
man  should  have  attacked  your  department  without  having 
gone  to  the  official  source  for  information.  Fortified  by  a 


The  Press  373 

properly  written  report  you  answer  all  assaults  and  com 
plaints  by  saying,  defiantly,  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  'Gen 
tlemen,  read  my  report/  They  can't  do  it!  They  would 
rather  give  up  and  let  you  alone.  Now,  to-morrow  bring 
me  the  official  figures  from  your  office  and  I  will  set  Scrib 
ble  to  work  on  them,  and  he  will  get  you  up  a  document 
of  some  two  hundred  pages — " 

"But  I  tell  you,"  interrupted  Rattle,  "that  my  whole 
material  will  not  fill  more  than  three  pages/' 

"No  matter;  give  us  that.  Scribble  will  attend  to  the 
remainder,  and  furnish  one  hundred  and  ninety-seven 
pages  of  leather  and  prunella.  Hang  it!  this  thing  of 
meagre  reports  will  discredit  us  all  and  starve  the  public 
printer !" 

"But,"  said  Rattle,  "won't  a  report  with  so  few  figures, 
and  with  so  much  leather  and  prunella,  be  rather  absurd, 
like  Falstaff's  bill  at  the  tavern?" 

"Not  a  bit.  I'll  see  to  that.  I'll  vary  the  order  of  the 
figures,  repeat  them  in  new  forms,  and  put  in  a  few  alge 
braic  signs,  and  altogether  make  it  look  so  formidable  that 
a  member  will  no  more  think  of  tackling  it  than  he  would 
a  treatise  on  conic  sections." 

Scribble  was  a  "little  old  bald  shot,"  who  made  his  living 
at  the  capital  by  his  pen.  For  a  time  his  strong  point  was 
to  write  biographies  of  all  the  new  members.  But  the 
novelty  of  this  soon  wore  off,  and  the  time  came  when,  if  a 
member  was  assured  that  Scribble  was  going  to  write  his 
life,  he  would  have  been  held  justifiable  in  taking  his.  He 
had  received  his  early  lessons  in  writing  and  composition 
in  a  county  clerk's  office,  where  he  had  acquired  that  prolix 
style  so  much  in  vogue  when  the  fees  of  the  clerk  were 
measured  by  the  number  of  words  in  a  legal  instrument. 
By  diligent  study  of  prolixity,  and  a  habit  of  writing  while 
half  asleep,  he  had  attained  great  eminence  in  this  style. 
He  was  indispensable  to  heads  of  departments,  and  his  pe 
culiar  graces  were  often  detected  even  in  the  messages  of 
the  governor. 

Of  the  further  transactions  at  this  symposium  we  are 
unable  to  give  a  clear  account.  The  journal  of  Russell, 
from  which  this  narrative  has  been  mainly  derived,  has 


374  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

here  a  hiatus  marked  by  asterisks.  He  was  quite  unwell 
next  day.  This  he  attributed  to  the  Frankfort  water,  which 
he  said  always  did  disagree  with  him.  Stackpole  was  up 
next  morning  early  as  usual.  He  was  heard  exercising  his 
fine  baritone  voice,  cooing  like  a  cock  pigeon,  and  when 
Bussell  got  up  he  found  on  the  table  a  tumbler  and  a  spoon, 
and  the  dregs  of  a  whisky  cocktail.  That  day  there  were 
sent  to  their  room — a  present  from  their  host — more  than  a 
dozen  bottles  of  old  whisky,  of  as  many  different  brands, 
each  bottle  having  the  name  of  a  particular  brand  upon  it, 
with  the  following  memoranda  in  pencil :  "Tried  and  ap 
proved  by  Messrs.  E.  and  S." 

Eussell  ascertained,  during  the  day,  that  Stackpole  had 
bought,  through  one  of  the  public  functionaries,  a  barrel 
of  old  whisky,  which  he  sent  to  Boston  as  a  present  to  a 
social  club  there,  of  which  he  was  a  member.  Attention 
is  called  to  this  as  a  notable  historical  fact!  This  was 
the  first  genuine  old  Kentucky  whisky  ever  sent  to  that 
town,  and,  in  time,  it  led  to  the  present  immense  demand 
from  Boston  for  that  class  of  goods;  a  demand  which  has 
been  of  inestimable  benefit  to  Frankfort,  and  to  the  Blue- 
grass  region  generally.  As  to  the  effect  upon  the  town  of 
Boston  and  the  good  people  of  the  Bay  State  this  chron 
icler  is  not  clear,  but  submits  to  the  reader  what  has  been 
said  on  this  point  by  a  Boston  man,  New  England's  fa 
vorite  poet,  and  withal  a  sharp  practical  philosopher,  well' 
known  now,  and  well  beloved,  all  over  the  land : 

"Intoxication  offers  the  weak  or  ill-managed  brain  a 
strange  state  of  confusion,  a  kind  of  Brahma's  heaven, 
where  'naught  is  everything  and  everything  is  naught,'  and 
where  all  perplexities  at  last  resolve  themselves  into  the 
general  formula,  'It's  of  no  consequence.'  Whisky  exactly 
suits  the  American  tendency  to  simplify  all  contrivances, 
and  reach  the  proposed  end  by  the  shortest  route.  It  fur 
nishes  an  economical,  compendious,  portable,  manageable, 
accommodating  and  not  unpalatable  method  of  arriving  at 
the  Brahma's  heaven  above  mentioned.  And  there  is  good 
reason  to  fear  that  it  is  breeding  a  generation  of  drunk 
ards/' 

This  is  certainly  deplorable !    But  the  intelligent  reader 


The  Press  375 

will  readily  detect  here  the  error,  common  to  New  England 
writers,  of  attributing  to  all  America  what  is  peculiar  to 
New  England.  Kentuckians  with  weak  or  ill-managed 
brains  will  be  surprised  to  find  themselves  credited  with 
a  tendency  to  reach  the  end  proposed  by  the  shortest  route, 
having  heretofore  borne  the  reproach  of  always  going  the 
longest  way  round.  And  all  Kentuckians  will  revolt  at 
the  suggestion  that,  at  any  time  or  under  any  circum 
stances,  the  end  proposed  by  them  is  that  "Brahma's 
heaven."  They  know  of  no  such  paradise.  But  they  do 
know  what  is  perhaps  a  kind  of  way-station  or  half-way 
house — like  the  Azores,  half  over  the  seas.  But  even  when 
bound  for  this  they  are  apt  to  loiter  and  dally  by  the  way ; 
and,  arrived  there,  their  state  is  nothing  like  that  perplex 
ing  metaphysical  condition  where  "naught  is  everything 
and  everything  is  naught,"  but,  as  this  chronicler  has 
learned  by  the  "perfectest  report/'  is  a  state  of  somewhat 
vague  and  indefinite  blissfulness,  where  "all  things  are 
lovely  and  the  goose  honks  high." 

Yet,  what  is  said  by  this  poet  and  philosopher  may  be 
true  of  New  England;  for  once,  while  this  chronicler  was 
traveling  by  rail  in  Massachusetts,  a  countryman  whom  he 
had  permitted  to  scrape  acquaintance,  after  some  talk,  find 
ing  that  he  was  a  Kentuckian,  and  captivated  by  his  affa 
bility,  went  to  the  door  of  the  smoking-car  and  thence  sig 
naled  this  chronicler,  in  a  very  mysterious  manner,  to>  join 
him;  and  when  this  request  had  been  complied  with,  in  a 
sly  way  drew  from  his  breast  pocket  a  flask  of  liquor,  and 
offering  it  said,  "Here's  suthin'  that  mayn't  be  as  good  as 
yeaou  hev  in  yeaure  kedentry,  but  it'll  dew  the  biz."  And 
when,  out  of  complaisance,  this  chronicler  tasted  this 
liquor,  he  found  it  to  be  not  Kentucky  whisky,  but  a  kind 
of  liquid  lightning,  "calc'lated"  to  "do  the  biz"  with  elec 
trical  swiftness. 

This  chronicler  is  no  advocate  for  any  kind  of  spirituous 
drink :  he  is  far  from  that.  Nay,  though  grounded  in  oppo 
sition  to  all  sumptuary  laws,  he  yet  stands  always  with 
uncovered  head  before  a  procession  of  that  new  party  in 
the  land,  whose  banners  are  borne  by  such  unusual  hands, 
by  wives,  mothers,  sisters,  brought  to  this  uncommon  work 


376  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

by  the  wreck  of  some  idol  of  the  heart — husband,  son,  or 
brother — fallen  into  the  dread  slough  of  drunkenness. 
Still,  it  is  his  opinion  that  the  change  made  by  the  people 
of  Massachusetts  from  New  England  rum  to  Kentucky 
whisky,  to  the  extent  that  change  may  have  been  made, 
must  have  proved  salutary. 


CHAPTEK  XXXVII 

POLITICAL  APPOINTMENTS 

"In  political  appointments,  not  lie  that  is  ablest  to  perform 
the  duties  of  the  office  is  appointed,  but  he  that  is  ablest  to 
get  appointed." — CABLYLE. 

"Jamais  ceux  qui-  ont  veilli  dans  les  emplois  laborieux  et 
subalternes  ne  parviennent  aux  dignites." — VOLTAIBE. 

THE  colloquy  between  the  register  and  the  public  func 
tionary,  overheard  by  Russell,  made  him  desire  to  know 
more  of  the  working  of  the  government  machinery,  and  he 
resolved  to  seek  Rattle,  the  register,  a  man  of  remarkable 
candor,  and  inform  himself  thoroughly  upon  this  subject. 
Accordingly,  next  day  after  breakfast  he  went  to  the  office 
of  the  register  (which  I  may  say  parenthetically  was  the 
last  place  he  ought  to  have  gone  to  find  him)  and  found 
there  only  "old  Dick"  Blunt,  the  clerk.  He  was  busy,  with 
spectacles  on  nose  and  pencil  in  hand,  poring  over  books, 
but  quitted  his  place  at  once  and  came  with  a  smile  to  greet 
the  visitor.  Russell  explained  that  he  had  not  called  on 
business,  but  only  to  pay  a  friendly  visit  to  the  register. 
He  was  not  likely  to  be  found  in  the  office  at  that  time 
of  the  day,  Blunt  said,  but  would  probably  be  found  at  the 
printing  office  or  on  the  street. 

Russell  was  inclined  to  know  more  of  this  old  man,  of 
whose  long  and  faithful  service  he  had  often  heard,  and 
therefore,  when  invited  by  him  to  take  a  seat,  accepted  it, 
and  they  were  soon  engaged  in  familiar  chat.  The  first 
discovery  that  Russell  made  was  that  "old  Dick,"  as  he 
was  familiarly  called,  was  by  no  means  so  old  as  he  had 
supposed.  He  looked  not  more  than  fifty,  and  seemed  as 
vigorous  and  active  as  any  man  of  that  age  could  be,  who 
had  passed  so  many  years  in  an  office,  turning  over  musty 

377 


378  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

books  of  record.  He  had  that  sliding  gait — not  lifting  the 
feet — which  men  acquire  by  passing  all  their  lives  on  floors,, 
and  wearing  slippers,  but  he  had  a  solid  frame,  a  bloom  on 
his  face,  and  every  appearance  of  a  man  of  good  habits  in 
excellent  health.  In  the  course  of  their  talk,  Russell 
chancing  to  speak  of  Thornton  and  Lastlands,  the  clerk  at 
once  recognized  both,  not  because  he  had  any  personal  ac 
quaintance  with  either,  but  because  he  remembered  the 
patents  and  the  original  surveys  on  record  in  the  office. 
He  opened  one  of  his  books  and  showed  Eussell  the  record 
of  the  Lastlands  patents  and  the  original  surveys  in  the 
vicinity  of  The  Falls.  He  showed  him  also  the  patents 
and  surveys  and  maps  of  the  several  islands  in  the  river 
about  there,  all  which  interested  Russell  very  much.  "There 
is  not  much,"  said  the  clerk,  "to  amuse  one  in  this  office, 
but  I  have  observed  that  people  like  to  look  over  the 
original  title  deeds  and  surveys  of  their  particular  locali 
ties.  They  are  a  part  of  local  history." 

"You  have  been  a  long  time  in  this  office,  Mr.  Blunt/' 
said  Russell. 

"Yes,  sir ;  more  than  twenty  years." 

"How  has  it  happened  that  you  have  never  been  dis 
placed?  There  have  been  many  changes  of  the  party  in 
power  within  that  time.  I  wonder  they  have  never  ousted 
you  according  to  the  usual  practice." 

Blunt  smiled,  with  a  humorous  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and 
answered,  "Well,  I  suppose  that  they  thought  it  would  be 
difficult  to  find  a  man  capable  of  filling  my  place." 

"You  are  not  a  Vicar  of  Bray — I'll  swear  to  that." 

"No,  sir;  I  have  always  maintained  my  political  opin 
ions,  and  voted  in  accordance  with  them." 

Russell  was  about  to  ask  him  why,  in  the  name  of  com 
mon  honesty  and  fairness,  some  governor  had  not  appointed 
him  Register  of  the  Land  Office,  but  feeling  that  this  might 
not  be  quite  proper  he  restrained  himself,  and  thanking  the 
clerk  for  his  polite  attentions  went  away  in  search  of 
Rattle. 

Finding  Rattle  and  proposing  a  walk,  they  climbed  the 
hill  that  overlooks  the  town  on  the  north,  and  strolled  long 
and  far  about  the  beautiful  environs  of  the  capital.  In  the 


Political  Appointments  379 

midst  of  the  romantic  beauty  of  these  precincts,  Russell 
forgot  the  politicians  and  their  plottings,  giving  himself 
up  to  the  contemplation  of  the  enchanting  scenes  before 
him.  But  as  they  descended  to  the  plain  on  which  stands 
the  little  capital,  and  its  red  walls  and  chimney  tops  and 
other  commonplace  features  came  into  view,  he  recurred  to 
politics  by  asking  Rattle  suddenly  why  Dick  Blunt  had 
never  been  made  Register  of  the  Land  Office.  Rattle 
stopped  short,  and  looking  hard  into  Russell's  face,  and 
shutting  one  eye  very  tight,  answered,  "Dick  has  no  po 
litical  influence." 

"Political  influence !"  exclaimed  Russell,  "what  has  that 
to  do  with  it?  He  has  eminent  qualifications  for  the  office, 
and,  as  I  heard  you  say  last  night,  has  done  all  the  work 
of  the  place  for  twenty  years.  I  never  heard  of  your  hav 
ing  any  political  influence,  and  yet  you  are  register." 

"Yes,  but  you  see  I  married  into  a  political  family.  My 
wife's  family  have  always  been  in  political  life.  From  a 
time  beyond  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant  they  have 
subsisted  by  office.  They  hold  now  in  our  county  all  the 
clerks'  offices ;  they  have  a  representative  there  on  the  bench 
of  the  circuit  court;  they  are  deputy  sheriffs,  constables, 
magistrates,  and  notaries.  When  I  was  married  into  the 
family  they  began  at  once  to  look  up  an  office  for  me.  In 
fact,  they  began  to  scheme  for  this  as  soon  as  we  were  en 
gaged.  I  had  no  inclination  for  office,  for  I  love  country 
life,  and  I  liked  better  to  stay  on  my  farm;  but  this  the 
family  considered  preposterous.  The  farm,  they  said,  could 
be  worked  as  well  in  my  absence,  and  my  salary  would  be 
just  so  much  clear  money.  I  urged  my  utter  ignorance  of 
the  business  of  the  Land  Office,  but  they  laughed  at  this, 
and  told  me  that  'old  Dick'  was  there,  and  would  manage 
the  whole  business ;  and  that  I  would  have  nothing  to  do 
but  to  receive  the  salary  and  enjoy  the  official  dignity.  I 
am  ashamed  to  tell  you  that  I  did  not  resent  this  humili 
ating  suggestion.  But  you  must  remember  that  it  was  in 
the  midst  of  the  honeymoon,  and  my  wife,  poor  child,  had 
been  imbued  with  the  family  notions  about  office,  and  had 
no  idea  how  any  man  could  get  on  respectably  in  life  with 
out  an  official  salary.  They  kept  her  head  full  of  the  dig- 


380  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

nity  of  the  office,  and  used  to  call  her  the  'Registress  of 
the  Land  Office/  before  I  got  the  place.  As  for  her  father, 
he  had  no  more  idea  of  the  iniquity  of  holding  a  sinecure 
than  a  Thug  has  of  the  crime  of  assassination.  I  was 
obliged  to  give  in:  and  here  I  am  with  nothing  to  do  but 
receive  and  spend  the  salary.  All  the  work  is  done  by 
"old  Dick/'  while  I  'disport  myself  as  any  other  fly/  as 
the  poet  says.  I  am  positively  ashamed  to  look  him  in 
the  face,  and  I  am  going  to  give  it  up.  I  would  have 
given  it  up  long  ago,  but  the  family  got  frantic  when  I 
talked  about  it.  Of  course  Dick  Blunt  ought  to  have  the 
office,  but  he'll  never  get  it.  A  man's  fitness  for  office  is 
measured  by  his  capacity  to  bring  support  to  the  governor. 
To  get  this  support  the  governor  uses  the  patronage  of  his 
office,  usually  promising  each  office  to  ten  or  a  dozen  differ 
ent  men,  in  different  sections  of  the  State.  Our  governor 
did  this.  Protesting  all  the  while  that  he  had  not  given  a 
pledge  to  anybody,  he  came  into  office  mortgaged  over  head 
and  ears,  and  among  these  incumbrances  was  mv  lien  upon 
the  Land  Office/' 

After  some  further  talk  Rattle  stopped  suddenly,  saying, 
"Here  we  are  at  the  public  binder's  establishment;  let  us 
go  in  and  see  Randall." 

They  went  up  a  flight  of  stairs,  and  entered  a  large  ob 
long  room,  where  a  number  of  men  and  women  and  boys 
were  busily  working  at  bookbinding.  Rattle  asked  for  Mr. 
Randall,  and  a  man  came  forward,  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
wiping  his  hands  with  a  towel,  and  was  introduced  to  Rus 
sell,  with  whom  he  shook  hands,  and,  after  some  little  talk, 
invited  him  to  inspect  the  work  going  on.  He  explained 
with  clearness  all  the  details  of  the  art,  much  to  Russell's 
edification.  They  then  thanked  Mr.  Randall,  and  went 
away,  Russell  saying,  when  they  had  reached  the  street, 
"Well,  there  seems  to  be  a  fit  man  in  office;  a  man  of  intel 
ligence  and  practically  acquainted  with  the  business  of  his 
office.  But  then  it  would  be  too  obvious  an  absurdity  to 
elect  a  man  public  binder  who  is  ignorant  of  bookbinding." 

Rattle  was  seized  with  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter. 
When  the  fit  was  over  he  said,  "It  would  be  too  obviously 
absurd,  would  it?  Why,  that  man  is  not  the  binder !  That 


Political  Appointments  381 

poor  fellow  is  in  the  same  boat  with  poor  old  Dick  Blunt. 
He  has  done  all  the  public  binding  for  I  don't  know  how 
many  years,  and  has  worked  in  the  office  nearly  all  his  life. 
The  official  binder  don't  even  give  countenance  to  the  'ob 
vious  absurdity'  by  his  presence  here.  He  lives  three  hun 
dred  miles  away.  He  knows  no  more  about  binding  a  book 
than  you  know  about  making  a  gun  flint.  He's  a  Jack-of- 
all-trades  except  bookbinding.  He's  a  doctor,  a  farmer,  a 
storekeeper,  and  owns  a  horse-mill,  but  he's  especially  a 
politician.  He  came  to  the  legislature  on  purpose  to  get 
this  office,  and  succeeded.  He  takes  the  lion's  share  of  the 
profits,  and  leaves  Randall  barely  enough  to  keep  the  pot 
simmering  for  a  wife  and  a  half  a  dozen  children.  You 
look  shocked!  I  was  at  first;  but  I've  got  used  to  these 
things." 

"I  am  shocked,  and  amazed.  What  a  vile,  corrupt  sys 
tem  !  And  this  is  'politics.'  This  is  what  is  meant  when, 
on  the  eve  of  an  election,  we  are  exhorted  by  the  consti 
tuted  authorities  of  the  party  to  stand  by  our  principles, 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  never  let  the  proud  old  banner 
go  down  in  defeat  and  disgrace,  etc." 

"Yes,"  said  Eattle,  "this  is  politics,  but  only  a  small  part 
of  it — a  sample.  But  I  must  not  be  disloyal  to  my  brother 
officials,  and  discourse  further  on  this  subject." 

Russell  stood  musing  for  a  few  moments  in  silence,  and 
then  broke  out  in  these  words :  "The  arts  by  which  the  few 
govern  the  many !  Shall  they  always  prevail  ?  Must  that 
honest  old  Blunt  wear  out  his  life  in  the  drudgery  of  the 
Land  Office,  and  Randall  in  the  bindery,  while  an  idler  like 
you  basks  in  the  noonday  sun,  and  pockets  all  the  fruit  of 
old  Dick's  labor,  and  a  wretched,  humbug  doctor  and  Jack- 
of-all-trades  takes  all  that  of  poor  Randall?  'Arise,  ye 
Goths,  and  glut  your  ire!'  I'm  for  a  constitutional  con 
vention,  a  new  constitution,  and  the  election  of  all  officers 
by  the  people!  We  must  get  down  toward  the  hard-pan 
of  democracy,  and  put  an  end  to  patronage,  or  it  will  de 
moralize  and  enslave  us  all." 

There  are  some  persons  now  living  who  remember  with 
what  ability,  and  zeal,  and  perseverance  this  proposition 
was  advocated  by  Mr.  Russell,  in  the  public  press,  and  how, 


382  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

many  years  after,  it  found  acceptance  with  the  people,  and 
culminated  in  the  convention  that  made  our  present  con 
stitution  under  which  almost  all  officers  are  elected  by  the 
people.  Unhappily,  the  plan  has  not  answered  all  the 
favorable  expectations  of  its  advocates.  The  corrupt  poli 
ticians,  like  the  poor,  are  always  with  us.  It  seems  vain 
to  erect  barriers  against  them.  The  evil  seems  to  lie  in 
the  infirmity  of  man,  and  to  be  incurable.  Can  it  be  true — 
what  has  been  so  irreverently  said — can  it  be  true,  that  the 
public  is  an  ass?  The  proposition  is  not  without  the  sup 
port  of  the  very  highest  authority;  for  every  one  that  has 
read  Shakespeare  (who  never  erred  in  a  diagnosis  of  hu 
man  character)  must  have  observed,  that  always,  in  his 
dramas,  he  represents  the  first  and  second  citizens  (which 
are  his  public)  as  consummate  asses. 


CHAPTEK  XXXVIII 

THE   PENTTENTIABY 

"Lasciate  ogni  speranza  voi  ch'entra  te." 
"All  hope  abandon,  ye  who  enter  here." 

THE  penitentiary  is  one  of  the  notable  things  in  Frank 
fort.  It  is  one  of  the  sights  of  the  capital,  and  all  curious 
people  who  go  there  visit  it.  Even  young  ladies,  under 
proper  escort,  are  shown  its  presentable  features.  They 
are  all  curious  to  see  the  man  sent  there  for  marrying  six 
wives,  and  always  have  pointed  out  to  them  this  handsome, 
black-eyed  rascal,  appropriately  employed  in  the  varnishing 
and  veneering  department;  a  warning  to  all  inclined  to 
love  not  wisely  but  too  well.  They  leave  the  place  usually 
with  a  not  unromantic  impression.  The  massive  stone 
building,  with  its  lofty  vaulted  doorway,  its  strong  iron 
gates  and  fastenings,  and  gratings,  and  the  high,  battle- 
mented  walls  by  which  it  is  surrounded,  makes  a  profound 
impression  on  the  visitor.  Moreover,  it  stands  opposite 
to  the  Governor's  Mansion,  and  is  sure  to  suggest  to  read 
ers  of  the  sentimental  poet  those  famous  lines, 

"I  stood  in  Venice  on  the  Bridge  of  Sighs, 
A  palace  and  a  prison  on  each  hand." 

Eussell  had  an  old  friend  employed  as  clerk  at  the  prison, 
and  took  Stackpole  there,  that  under  the  auspices  of  this 
friend  he  might  get  a  good  view  of  the  interior.  While  the 
clerk  was  waiting  the  return  of  his  assistant  to  accompany 
them  through  the  wards,  Russell  walked  to  a  window  of  the 
office  which  opened  upon  the  prison  yard,  and  looked  out 
there.  The  day  was  lowering,  and  the  window  panes  were 
begrimed  with  dust,  so  that  he  could  see  but  indistinctly 

383 


384  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

through  them ;  but  his  curiosity  being  excited  by  the  move 
ments  of  a  knot  of  men  in  the  yard,  who  were  gathered 
about  another  man  in  the  garb  of  a  prisoner,  he  rubbed 
away  the  dust  from  a  pane  of  glass,  and  got  a  clearer  view. 
The  man  in  prisoner's  garb  was  stripping  off  his  clothes, 
while  two  men  stood  idly  by  watching  him,  and  a  third,  a 
very  large  man  and  very  powerful,  held  in  his  hands  a  stick 
about  two  feet  long,  attached  to  which  was  a  leather  strap 
of  about  the  same  length,  four  inches  wide.  Eussell  called 
the  clerk  to  the  window,  and  pointing  out  to  him  this 
group,  inquired  what  they  were  about.  "They  seem,"  said 
the  clerk,  "to  be  getting  ready  to  give  that  fellow  the 
strap." 

"What  is  the  strap  ?"  said  Eussell. 

"The  strap  is  the  implement  in  the  big  man's  hand.  I 
have  never  seen  it  applied.  Indeed,  I  have  seen  but  one 
man  punished  in  all  the  time  I  have  been  here.  I  was  look 
ing  through  this  window,  just  as  we  are  doing  now,  when 
I  saw  a  man  lashed  with  a  cowhide  right  where  they  are 
now  standing.  But  I  did  not  see  it  to  the  end.  When  I 
had  seen  a  half  dozen  stripes  laid  on  with  a  regular  slope 
toward  the  spine,  which  marks  the  work  of  an  expert,  and 
saw  a  rivulet  of  blood  flow  down  the  hollow  of  the  back,  and 
form  a  puddle  on  the  ground,  I  had  enough,  and  turned 
away.  I  am  rather  chicken-hearted." 

"But  this  strap,"  said  Russell,  "this  can't  cut  like  a  cow 
hide.  It  must  be,  I  think,  a  light  punishment  for  petty 
offenses — a  mere  spanking." 

"I  have  never  seen  it  inflicted ;  I  think  it  must  be  as  you 
say.  Will  you  go  in  now  and  witness  it?" 

"Well — yes.  I  should  not  like  to  witness  any  of  the 
severe  punishments  of  the  prison,  but  I  should  rather  like 
to  see  this  spanking." 

And  then  they  walked  in  through  the  heavy  gateway, 
where  a  sentry  stood  to  open  it,  a  loud  bell  sounding  as 
they  entered.  Making  their  way  to  the  group  they  find 
the  prisoner  standing,  naked,  awaiting  his  punishment.  He 
is  a  tall,  athletic  young  fellow,  straight  as  an  arrow,  with 
fair  red  hair  and  blue  eyes,  and  a  skin  like  silver.  He  does 
not  seem  much  concerned.  Meantime,  the  large  man,  who 


The  Penitentiary  385 

is  peculiar  in  form,  having  a  very  small  head  with  an  im 
mense  body  and  powerful  limbs,  holds  the  strap  in  his  hand 
and  is  busy  manipulating  it.  He  is  soaking  the  leather, 
which  is  very  heavy  sole,  in  a  basin  of  water,  as  if  hu 
manely  softening  it  before  applying  it  to  the  naked  back. 

The  prisoner's  arms  are  now  fastened  in  front  by  a 
strap ;  he  is  made  to  kneel,  and  then  to  rest  his  forehead  on 
the  ground,  like  "Orientals  in  prayer"  in  the  illustrated 
geographies.  The  big  man  with  the  strap  then  comes  for 
ward,  takes  off  his  coat,  and  rolls  up  his  sleeves.  He  stands 
for  a  moment  contemplating  the  back  of  the  prisoner,  and 
carefully  measuring  his  distance.  Eussell  now  looks  again 
at  the  strap,  black  and  heavy,  with  an  undulating  motion 
in  the  grasp  of  the  big  man,  and  begins  to  fear  that  the 
punishment  will  be  something  worse  than  a  mere  spanking. 
But  he  has  little  time  to  speculate.  There  is  a  flame  in 
the  big  man's  eyes,  the  implement  flies  aloft,  and,  as  he 
tiptoes,  it  describes  a  circle  in  the  air,  and  comes  down 
upon  the  white  back.  Horror !  horror !  what  a  blow !  The 
man  writhes  under  it,  the  muscles  of  his  face  and  of  his 
whole  body  draw  up  into  knots  and  cords,  and  his  eyes 
seem  starting  from  their  sockets.  Again  it  flies  aloft,  and 
now  he  sinks  under  it,  his  muscles  all  relaxing  as  in  death. 
The  big  man  keeps  his  position,  posing  there,  while  the  two 
others  hasten  to  the  head  of  the  prisoner,  and,  after  some 
whispering,  one  of  them  runs  for  the  hospital  steward, 
who  comes  out,  and,  feeling  the  pulse,  waves  away  the  big 
man,  saying  "JSTo  more."  Eussell  and  Stackpole  look  on 
with  grim  faces,  while  the  clerk  grows  pale  and  walks 
away. 

The  arms  of  the  prisoner  are  now  loosed,  and  some  re 
storatives  are  administered  to  him,  and  after  some  moments 
he  revives  and  is  helped  to  his  feet.  And  now  are  seen  two 
great  blisters  a  foot  in  length,  which  have  risen  along  his 
back  parallel  to  each  other,  puffed  up  and  shining  like  two 
huge  fish  bladders.  The  man  is  led  off  and  Russell  and 
Stackpole  walk  away.  They  did  not  fail  to  notice  a  look 
of  intense  admiration  in  the  eyes  of  the  two  assistants,  as 
they  viewed  the  shining  marks  on  the  man's  back,  one  of 


386  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

them  saying,  "Don't  he  lay  'em  on  squar  ?  If  I'd  seed  that 
at  the  world's  eend  I'd  knowed  it  was  the  old  man's  work." 
The  big  man  was  a  distinguished  character  in  the  prison. 
His  fame  as  an  expert  with  the  lash  and  the  strap,  and  in 
the  art  of  torture  within  the  law,  extended  far  beyond  the 
prison  walls.  Within  these  walls  his  memory  was  long 
kept  green,  his  exploits  related  with  pride,  and  his  name 
mentioned  with  reverential  fondness.  Old  employees  of  the 
prison,  when  they  witnessed  some  bungling  work  upon  a 
man's  back,  used  to  heave  a  sigh,  and  lament  the  decay 
of  art,  and  despair  of  ever  seeing  any  "work  like  the  old 
man's."  They  would  have  laid  a  wager  that  he  could, 
without  once  suspending  the  play  of  his  lash,  cut  on  the 
back  of  a  man  a  wreath  of  roses,  with  his  monogram  in  the 
middle.  We  do  not  know  that  such  ghastly  and  absurd 
blazonry  was  indeed  ever  practiced,  but  doubtless  he  did 
execute  some  quite  fanciful  work — light  caprices — what  he 
called  his  "cock's-combs  and  rosettes."  He  has  long  ago 
gone  to  his  account.  He  was  but  a  part  of  a  vile  system 
of  prison  management  and  discipline.  Peace  to  his  ashes ! 


CHAPTEE  XXXIX 

AN  ANONYMOUS  LETTER 

"Our  Repentance  is  not  so  much  Regret  for  the  Evil  we  have 
done  as  Fear  of  its  consequence  to  us." 

MR.  GEORGE  D.  PRENTICE  was  now  conducting  with 
great  vigor,  at  The  Falls,  his  famous  Journal.  Before  the 
advent  of  the  Journal,  the  Advertiser,  a  leading  Democratic 
paper  of  the  State,  had  its  own  way  in  the  matter  of  per 
sonal  controversy,  common  between  editors  of  that  day. 
The  Focus,  the  organ  of  Mr.  Clay  at  The  Falls,  edited  by 
a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  a  Churchman  wearing  gold 
spectacles  and  modified  knee  breeches,  and  discoursing  pol 
itics  in  a  mild,  academic  way,  was  no  match  for  the  keen 
wit  and  rough  irreverence  of  Mr.  Shadrach  Penn  of  the 
Advertiser,  who  spoke  always  of  his  adversary  as  "Little 
Decency."  No  answer  in  kind  was  possible  to  the  venerable 
and  dignified  editor  of  the  Focus,  though  he  did  often,  as 
this  chronicler  happened  to  know,  on  reading  the  personal 
paragraphs  of  the  Advertiser,  flush  up  and  stamp  and 
angrily  exclaim,  "The  dirty  dog!  the  dirty  dog!"  which, 
when  reported  to  Mr.  Penn,  only  moved  that  saucy  wit  to 
hearty  laughter.  But  when  the  Journal  entered  the  arena, 
the  Advertiser  found  its  master.  The  editor,  hitherto  so 
formidable  in  the  field  of  personal  and  party  abuse,  be 
came  in  time  helpless  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Prentice,  and 
after  a  struggle  of  many  years  abandoned  the  field. 

The  extraordinary  fertility  and  power  of  Mr.  Prentice, 
who  could  sound  the  scale  of  expression  from  that  of  sub- 
liine  poetry  down  to  that  of  the  lowest  stinging  ribaldry, 
enabled  him  to  drive  every  antagonist  before  him.  The 
Argus  of  Amos  Kendall,  hitherto  famous  in  personal  con 
troversy,  and  which  had  received  from  the  party  head- 

387 


388  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

quarters  at  Washington  the  doubtful  compliment  of  hav 
ing  "a  spice  of  coarseness  suited  to  the  West"  (a  compli 
ment  resented  by  both  the  Argus  and  the  West),  was  soon 
compelled  to  withdraw  from  the  field,  and,  possessed  of  a 
sudden  decency,  to  protest  against  a  mode  of  warfare  in 
which  it  had  once  delighted  to  lead.  The  power  of  the 
Journal  was  at  once  recognized  in  the  State,  the  name  of 
the  editor  was  sounded  all  over  the  country,  and  his  witty 
paragraphs  copied  everywhere.  No  politician — no  man — 
would  for  any  reasonable  consideration  expose  himself  to 
attack  by  the  Journal.  Besides  his  intrinsic  power,  the 
editor  had  a  habit  of  persistence  in  attack,  which  would 
pierce  the  thickest  skin,  not  even  a  pachydermatous  poli 
tician  being  proof  against  his  repeated  assaults.  With 
what  must  have  seemed  to  them  "damnable  iteration"  he 
struck  his  victims  again  and  again  in  the  same  tender 
spots,  until  they  fled  howling,  or  lay  prostrate  before  him. 
Even  then,  if  they  showed  signs  of  life,  he  gave  them  a 
finishing  kick,  and  afterward  threw  upon  them  "shards, 
flints  and  pebbles,"  to  mark  the  place  of  an  unhallowed 
burial.  Men  grew  pale  at  the  prospect  of  being  the  object 
of  his  assault.  Sometimes  personal  satisfaction  was  sought, 
which  he  seemed  always  ready  to  accord,  happily,  in  every 
instance,  without  harm  to  himself  or  his  antagonist. 

It  chanced  after  the  visit  of  Russell  and  Stackpole  to 
the  penitentiary,  that,  going  to  the  newspaper  office,  where 
they  had  been  so  often  hospitably  entertained,  they  found 
nobody  there;  and  the  newspaper  mail  lying  on  the  table, 
they  had  an  opportunity  to  quietly  read  the  news  from 
home,  and  enjoy  the  lively  passage  at  arms  which  went  on 
daily  between  Penn  and  Prentice.  Suddenly  Russell,  who 
had  the  Journal  in  hand,  made  an  exclamation  of  surprise, 
and  then  pointed  out  to  Stackpole  some  verses  in  the  paper, 
signed  with  the  initials  of  the  editor,  "G.  D.  P.,"  which 
verses  he  (Russell)  declared  he  had  seen  at  Rattle's  office, 
in  an  old  file  of  a  newspaper  "printed  when  Prentice  was  a 
baby."  Afterward,  on  their  way  to  the  tavern,  they  went 
by  Rattle's  office,  where  Russell  got  this  old  paper  and 
took  it  to  his  room. 

That  night  there  was  another  symposium,  to  which  they 


An  Anonymous  Letter  389 

were  invited,  but  from  which  Eussell  begged  off  on  the 
plea  of  a  headache,  leaving  Stackpole  to  bear  the  brunt. 
Late  in-  the  night,  returning  to  the  tavern,  Stackpole  found 
Eussell  sitting  by  a  table  in  his  room,  with  writing  material 
before  him.  He  again  showed  to  Stackpole  the  verses  in 
the  newspaper,  identical  with  those  in  the  Journal,  and 
printed  at  a  time  when  Prentice,  they  were  sure,  must  have 
been  a  child  in  frocks  and  slips,  or,  at  best,  a  very  small 
boy.  Both  agreed  that  it  was  out  of  the  question  that  he 
could  be  the  author  of  these  lines,  and  that  it  was  a  clear 
case  of  plagiarism.  Then  Russell  exhibited  an  anonymous 
letter  he  had  written  to  Prentice,  charging  him  with  lit 
erary  theft,  and  rapping  him  over  the  knuckles  in  a  very 
lively  way — something  after  the  editor's  own  fashion. 
Stackpole  was  delighted  with  this  smart  letter,  and  Eussell 
went  right  away  and  put  it  into  the  mail. 

"In  general,"  said  Eussell  when  he  came  back,  "an 
anonymous  letter  is  a  base  mode  of  assault.  But  the  case 
of  an  editor  is  exceptional.  He  has  such  an  advantage, 
having  at  hand  a  press  by  which  he  may  appear  daily,  in, 
the  regular  course  of  his  business,  and  without  cost,  while 
the  layman  has  to  buy  or  beg  his  way  to  the  public  ear,  and 
must  be  inevitably  overwhelmed,  even  with  right  on  his 
side.  In  this  case,  although  I  am  unquestionably  in  the 
right,  I  should  be  assaulted  venomously  for  six  months 
without  intermission;  and  I  have  no  notion  of  being 
served  up  in  broil,  and  roast,  and  finally  hashed,  for  the 
readers  of  the  Journal.  So  I  think  it  but  fair  to  give  him 
this  righteous  thrust  from  behind  a  mask." 

Eussell  and  Stackpole  resolved  to  set  out  on  the  follow 
ing  day  on  their  homeward  journey — to  ride  for  dinner  to 
Shelbyville,  to  "peruse  that  little  spot,"  and  thence  ride 
leisurely  on  to  Lastlands.  But  first  they  determined  to 
give,  that  night,  in  return  for  the  hospitality  shown  them, 
an  entertainment  to  their  polite  hosts  at  the  capital.  Of 
this  entertainment  we  will  only  say  that  it  was  in  the 
highest  degree  satisfactory,  the  worthy  landlord  having 
made  ample  provision  for  the  delectation  of  their  guests. 

At  breakfast  on  the  morning  after  the  entertainment 
Russell  was  out  of  spirits,  silent,  and  apparently  absorbed 


390  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

in  painful  meditation.  While  Stackpole  exhibited  his  usual 
fine  appetite,  Eussell  ate  daintily,  and  was  so  abstracted 
that  he  accepted  coffee  instead  of  his  usual  cup  of  tea,  and 
afterward  scolded  the  servant  for  having  brought  the  cof 
fee.  All  of  which  Stackpole  attributed  to  "the  Frankfort 
water,"  and  prescribed  a  whisky  cocktail,  which  Russell 
solemnly  declined.  After  a  while  he  said,  in  a  very  low 
tone,  "Stackpole,  did  you  tell  anybody  about  that  letter  I 
wrote  the  other  night?" 

"What  letter?    Oh,  that  letter  to  Pren— " 

"Hush !  speak  low." 

"Yes,  I  believe  I  did.    Why?" 

"I'm  devilish  sorry  you  did.  But  say  no  more  now;  wait 
until  we  get  into  our  room — I'll  explain." 

After  breakfast  Russell  led  the  way  to  their  room,  where, 
after  closing  the  door  and  locking  it,  he  said,  "There's 
going  to  be  the  devil  to  pay,  I'm  afraid.  Whom  did  you 
tell  of  my  having  written  that  letter?" 

Stackpole  had  not  thought  to  speak  of  the  letter  to  any 
body,  but  having  imbibed  something  of  Russell's  mischief 
he  answered,  "How  can  I  remember  now?  Perhaps  four 
or  five  of  our  friends.  I  thought  it  highly  creditable  to 
you;  it  was  such  a  plain  case  of  plagiarism,  and  your  let 
ter  was  such  a  smart  one,  could  I  keep  it  ?" 

"Well,"  said  Russell,  speaking  with  a  solemn,  prophetic 
air,  "I  shall  figure  in  that  confounded  paper  for  the  next 
six  months,  under  various  captions :  'The  anonymous 
scoundrel  at  the  capital' ;  'The  anonymous  scoundrel  at  the 
capital  again' ;  'The  anonymous  scoundrel  once  more' ;  and 
finally,  'The  anonymous  scoundrel  at  the  capital  tJN- 
MASKED  !'  And  after  that  the  deluge — Damnation !  I  wish 
you  hadn't  spoken  of  that  letter.  Now  just  read  this  para 
graph  in  the  Journal  of  yesterday." 

Then  he  handed  the  paper  to  Stackpole,  who  read  aloud 
from  it  (we  quote  from  a  good  memory)  the  following 
paragraph : 

"  'We  have  received  from  Frankfort  an  impudent  anony 
mous  letter  charging  us  with  having  stolen,  from  an  old 
newspaper,  some  lines  printed  over  our  initials  a  few  days 


An  Anonymous  Letter  391 

ago  in  the  Journal.  Need  we  say  it? — the  verses  are  our 
own. 

"  'Some  years  ago  (we  will  not  say  how  many — but  not 
many),  when  we  were  a  schoolboy  in  Connecticut,  wearing 
a  round  jacket — when  our  "young  muse  just  waved  her 
joyous  wing" — we  wrote  these  lines.  They  were  printed 
in  a  Hartford  paper,  and  were  generally  copied  and -com 
mended  by  the  press.  Subsequently,  when  we  had  taken 
charge  of  the  New  England  Magazine,  we  printed  them 
again  in  that  paper.  Still  later,  after  we  had  come  to  Ken 
tucky,  and  were  engaged  upon  a  literary  work  at  Lexing 
ton,*  we  printed  them  there,  in  the  Observer  and  Reporter; 
and  the  other  day,  for  the  fourth  time,  we  printed  them  in 
the  Journal.  So  much  for  justification. 

"  'We  do  not  know  who  is  this  anonymous  scoundrel  at 
the  capital,  but  his  letter  bears  earmarks  by  which  he  will 
be  inevitably  identified ;  and,  by  the  way,  he  writes  as  mis 
erable  a  scrawl  as  if  half  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  had 
been  cut  off  by  a  steel  trap,  while  robbing  some  henroost. 
We  pledge  ourselves  that  when  we  do  find  him  out,  we  will 
put  a  mark  upon  him  that  shall  neither  rub  out,  wash  out, 
nor  burn  out.  Our  detective  force  is  already  on  his  track.'  " 

Stackpole  looked  up  from  the  paper  to  Russell's  face,  and 
burst  out  laughing.  There  is  no  man  so  sensitive  to  ridi 
cule  when  directed  against  himself,  as  a  professional  joker, 
and  Eussell's  rueful  visage  was  now  a  sight  to  behold! 
Then  Stackpole,  compassionating  him,  gave  assurance  that 
he  had  not  said  a  word  to  anybody  about  the  letter,  and  so 
set  his  mind  at  ease.  Soon  after  they  set  out  on  their 
journey  home. 

*The  Life  of  Mr.  Clay. 


CHAPTEE  XL 

ME.   JOHN  DIGBY  VISITS  LASTLANDS 

"God  made  the  Country,  and  man  made  the  Town." 

ABOUT  this  time  Mr.  John  Digby  visited  Lastlands  and 
for  a  wonder  passed  the  night  there.  Averse  to  the  country 
as  he  was,  such  visits  were  always  sacrifices,  which  he  was 
capable  of  making  only  under  a  strong  sense  of  duty.  Long 
before  this,  seeing  the  bad  courses  into  which  Mr.  Joe  Ster- 
rett  was  falling,  he  had  availed  himself  of  the  sad  occur 
rence  of  Captain's  Shelby's  death,  which  had  brought  Ster- 
rett  for  a  time  to  sobriety  and  to  himself,  and  conspiring 
with  Sterretfs  wife  he  had  changed  their  residence  from 
town  to  country;  and  to  fix  him  there  had  induced  him 
to  lease  for  a  term  of  five  years  his  house  in  town;  and 
then  to  keep  him  in  heart,  had  contrived  that  Quid  and  Mr. 
Jack  Taylor  and  other  friends  should  visit  him,  and  had 
himself  gone  to  see  him  and  even  sometimes  passed  the 
night  there,  a  thing  very  irksome  to  him. 

The  purpose  of  Mr.  Digby' s  visit  to  Lastlands  was  now 
to  inform  Thornton  of  a  correspondence  he  had  lately  had 
with  his  brother  Dick  at  Boston,  and  to  discuss  the  prob 
ability  of  his  early  return  to  Kentucky.  Robert  Thornton 
had  also  been  in  correspondence  with  his  brother,  and  had 
been  led  to  expect  him  home  some  time  in  the  then  present 
month  of  September.  But  Digby  informed  him  that  in 
his  late  correspondence  Dick  had  written  altogether  about 
sugar,  making  particular  inquiries  as  to  the  market  in  the 
Ohio  Valley,  and  of  the  quantity  on  hand  in  the  several 
leading  towns  there,  and  at  Nashville;  and  that  he  had 
been  at  pains  to  give  him  accurate  information  as  to  all 
this.  He  believed  that  Dick  and  Stackpole  now  con 
templated  a  large  venture  in  sugar,  and  that  as  it  was 

392 


Mr.  John  Digby  Visits  Lastlands  393 

Dick's  practice  always,  in  such  cases,  to  make  a  personal 
inspection  of  the  great  sources  of  supply,  he  believed  that 
he  would  go  first  to  Havana,  thence  to  New  Orleans,  and 
thence  home  by  the  rivers;  and  so  would  not  reach  The 
Falls  before  December. 

The  coming  home  of  Dick  Thornton,  now  so  long  away, 
was  a  subject  of  almost  paramount  interest  in  both  house 
holds,  and  was  discussed  until  a  late  hour  in  the  night. 
Eobert  Thornton  was  desirous  that  he  should  come  in  Sep 
tember,  in  the  rich  maturity  and  beauty  of  the  early  fall, 
while  the  leaves  were  still  on  the  trees,  and  amidst  the 
changeful  glories  of  the  season,  and  had  obstinately  dis 
puted  Digby's  conclusions.  But  next  morning  as  they  stood 
on  the  veranda  while  Tom  Strother  held  two  saddled  horses 
on  the  gravel,  he  had  given  up  all  his  grounds  of  objection 
save  one — which  had  occurred  to  him  after  they  had  part 
ed — that  Dick  would  not  venture  to  Havana  in  the  "yel 
low  fever  season."  But  Digby  scouted  this;  and  said  that 
Dick  would  not  for  a  moment  consider  this,  any  more  than 
a  soldier  would,  seeing  a  great  strategic  advantage.  Then 
Thornton  gave  up,  saying,  "Come  and  ride  with  me  around 
the  plantation  and  let  me  show  you  what  Dick  will  miss." 

"No,  Bob;  I  take  no  interest  in  green  crops.  I  hardly 
know  one  from  another.  I  am  not  sure  that  I  can  distin 
guish  oats  from  wheat  or  rye." 

"Why,  only  the  corn  is  green  now.  The  others  are  har 
vested  and  housed.  I  want  to  show  you  the  hemp  in  the 
stacks." 

"Hemp?  Why,  I  know  nothing  about  that  either.  I 
should  not  know  a  good  crop  from  a  bad  one.  I  like  all 
these  things  very  well  in  their  matured  state,  as  commod 
ities  on  the  market,  but  not  at  all  in  a  crude  condition." 
And  when  Thornton  persisted,  he  said  positively,  "No,  no, 
Bob ;  I  am  not  going  to  let  you  ride  me  around  the  planta 
tion  in  the  dew.  I  used  to  let  your  father  do  that  when  I 
was  courting  my  wife,  when  I  rode  around  the  fences  pre 
tending  to  admire  what  I  knew  nothing  about.  But  I  am 
not  going  to  let  you  do  it.  I  have  no  liking  for  the  coun 
try.  I  'am  a  town  pigeon.  I  would  rather  live  in  a  box 
nailed  against  a  wall,  or  up  in  a  belfry  in  town,  than  any- 


394  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

where  in  the  country.  What  I  like  is  people,  people,  people. 
The  stillness  of  the  country  depresses  me,  and  the  monot 
onous  whistle  of  the  toads  at  nightfall  gives  me  the  blues. 
When  the  blackbirds  come  in  to  roost  there  is  a  momentary 
stir,  and  when  they  leave  the  roost  in  the  morning  their 
boom  reminds  me  of  the  cannon  of  a  little  river  steamer. 
But  they  are  the  only  things  that  seem  wide  awake  out  here. 
It  is  a  veritable  Sleepy  Hollow !" 

Strange  to  Thornton,  once  himself  a  denizen  of  the 
town,  seemed  now  Mr.  John  Digby's  insensibility  to  the 
delights  of  the  country  life.  And  strange  to  every  settled 
dweller  in  the  country  seems  that  strong  centripetal  force 
which  draws  men  together  into  towns,  and  ever  growing 
stronger,  packs  them  there  like  herrings  in  a  box,  and 
amidst  smoke,  and  dust,  and  "thousandfold  exhalations/' 
while  fresh  land  lies  around  inviting  them  to  possess  it. 

As  to  the  coming  of  Dick  Thornton,  the  conclusion  of 
Mr.  John  Digby,  spite  of  its  seeming  justness,  proved  to 
be  wrong;  for  a  few  days  after  Dick  arrived  at  The  Falls 
and  was  soon  settled  at  Lastlands. 

A  separation  for  so  long  a  time,  and  so  complete  as  that 
of  these  brothers  had  been,  seems  often  to  abate  the  warm 
est  affection.  But  the  old  feeling  now  came  back  to  their 
hearts  with  even  more  than  its  pristine  force,  and  they 
fairly  reveled  in  mutual  love  and  admiration.  They  were 
now  constant  companions.  On  horseback  and  on  foot  they 
rode  and  walked  over  the  wide  domain.  Dick  was  ever 
praising  Lastlands,  especially  its  beautiful  woodland  pas 
tures, — parks,  he  called  them, — declaring  that  there  was 
nothing  anywhere  abroad,  even  in  the  demesnes  of  royalty, 
superior  to  these.  "Why,  Bob,"  he  said,  "you  have  what 
abroad  can  be  had  only  by  people  possessed  of  princely 
fortunes;  splendid  natural  parks,  and  fish  and  game  in 
abundance,  without  the  expense  or  the  odium  of  preserving 
them.  Until  I  went  abroad  I  did  not  know  what  a  veritable 
nabob  a  Kentucky  planter  is.  And  few  of  them  know  it 
themselves." 

All  this  praise  of  Lastlands,  though  Dick's  long  resi 
dence  in  England  enabled  him  fairly  to  appreciate  the 
beauty  and  completeness  of  the  plantation,  was  not  inspired 


Mr.  John  Digby  Visits  Lastlands  395 

by  this.  There  lay  behind  another  motive.  He  had  himself 
no  love  of  country  life,  and  he  knew  that  his  brother  in  the 
beginning  had  accepted  Lastlands  only  as  a  place  of  refuge, 
and  now  he  wanted  to  ward  off  from  him  any  feeling  of 
dissatisfaction,  dreading  lest  he  should  be  tempted  back 
to  the  perils  of  town  life.  But  it  was  not  long  till  he  carne 
to  know  how  firmly  rooted  was  his  brother  at  Lastlands. 
Freed  from  this,  the  only  apprehension  that  had  disturbed 
him,  Dick's  heart  expanded  with  wide  benevolence,  and  he 
wanted  to  bring  together  at  Lastlands,  to  witness  his 
brother's  happiness,  all  their  old  friends,  and  he  began  to 
make  particular  inquiries  about  these;  but  most  particu 
larly  about  Mr.  Joe  Sterrett  and  his  household.  Thornton's 
account  of  Sterrett  gave  Dick  great  pain.  And  when  he 
was  told  that  Bob  himself  had  been  obliged  to  cease  to  visit 
Sterrett  because  company  only  stimulated  his  appetite  for 
drink,  Dick  cried  out,  "Oh,  Bob,  this  will  never  do.  We 
must  save  him.  He  must  come  here  and  go  with  us  to 
the  parish  church.  It  will  do  him  good  to  see  all  that  you 
have  done.  We  must  get  a  hold  on  him  while  he  is  here, 
and  we  must  not  let  him  loose  until  he  is  safe.  I  will  go 
and  fetch  him." 

"I  am  glad  you  are  going  to  see  him.  I  could  do  noth 
ing  with  him.  He  only  laughed  at  what  he  called  my 
homilies.  Perhaps  he  will  have  more  respect  for  you  as 
an  older  and  altogether  more  serious  and  solid  character.  I 
once  thought  that  Digby  would  straighten  him,  but  Sterrett 
took  to  hiding  away  from  him,  and  Digby  was  forced  to 
give  him  up." 

"I  will  go  to  see  him  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XLI 

THE   MEETING   OF   OLD  FRIENDS 

"To  make  a  happy  fireside  clime  to  weans  and  wife, 
That's  the  true  pathos  and  sublime  of  human  life." 

NEXT  day  Dick  Thornton  went  to  see  Sterrett  at  his 
home.  As  he  rode  through  the  grove  to  Sterrett's  house 
many  marks  of  slovenly  management  arrested  his  atten 
tion.  Fragments  of  limbs  blown  from  the  trees  lay  on  the 
ground  through  the  beautiful,  grassy  woodland.  In  one 
place  a  whole  tree  lay  uprooted,  pointing  its  ghastly  toes 
toward  the  sky.  In  the  pasture  were  only  a  few  sheep  and 
some  cows,  and  an  old  white  mare  with  a  foal  by  her  side, 
who  stood  in  the  road  confronting  Thornton.  The  old  dam 
laid  back  her  ears  as  he  rode  toward  her,  and  putting  herself 
between  her  colt  and  danger  moved  slowly  away,  while  the 
foal  cut  a  caper  and  then  turned  about  and  stared  with 
wild  eyes  at  Thornton,  making  little  menacing  gestures 
with  its  head.  He  saw  at  a  glance  that  they  were  thorough 
breds  and  knew  that  Sterrett  still  adhered  to  his  old  love, 
the  racehorse. 

As  he  neared  the  house  two  dogs  came  out,  barking  fierce 
ly;  but  when  he  dismounted  and  stretched  out  his  hand 
they  both  approached  him,  crouching  and  wagging  their 
tails,  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  silken  coats  of  two  fine 
setters,  lemon  and  white,  the  color  by  which  Joe  always 
swore.  As  he  pushed  open  the  wicket  a  bevy  of  partridge- 
colored  hens  with  slim  necks,  like  wild  birds,  came  out  of 
the  shrubbery,  shaking  clouds  of  dust  from  their  feathers, 
and  a  black  and  red  gamecock  interposed,  and  putting 
down  his  burnished  wings,  cackled  loudly  and  defiantly, 
until  his  dames  were  all  safe  out  of  the  way,  when  he  paced 
after  them,  chuckling  and  congeeing  like  a  French  beau. 

Hearing  a  strain  of  music,  a  lively  dancing  air,  he  looked 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends  397 

aside  beyond  the  vines  of  a  trellis  and  saw  there  a  negro 
girl  dancing.  She  was  making  her  own  music,  which  had 
a  nasal  sound  like  a  violoncello  with  an  accompaniment,  all 
ingeniously  executed  in  some  way  by  her  lips  and  nose.  At 
a  short  distance  it  might  have  been  easily  mistaken  for 
the  music  of  a  violin  and  a  violoncello. 

"Forward  two!"  says  this  dancing  nymph,  in  a  loud 
chanting  voice,  and  immediately  floats  away  and  back,  and 
then  forward  again,  and  turns  an  imaginary  vis-a-vis.  "Dos 
a  dos!"  she  cries  in  the  same  loud  chanting  tone,  and 
swims  away  and  gracefully  back  again.  "Lemonade  all!" 
— away  she  prances  in  a  circle,  giving  her  hand  to  an 
imaginary  partner.  Then  walking  up  and  down,  manipu 
lating  an  imaginary  fan,  and  leaning  on  the  arm  of  an 
imaginary  beau,  apparently  in  answer  to  something  this 
beau  has  said,  she  laughs  out — "hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo,  hah-hah 
— the — i-d-e-a-r  I" 

Just  as  she  had  done  this,  which  Thornton  felt  assured 
was  an  imitation  of  the  manner  of  some  reigning  belle,  a 
voice  was  heard  from  the  house,  a  wheezy  voice  like  that 
of  a  man  with  a  cold,  "You,  Jane  I" 

She  paused  an  instant,  and  Thornton  surveyed  her  figure 
with  an  amused  countenance.  She  seemed  about  twelve  or 
fourteen  years  old,  a  pure  African,  of  slender  form,  clad 
in  a  blue  linsey  frock  which  reached  the  middle  of  her  legs, 
which  were  slim  and  black,  with  an  indefinite  shade  of  ash 
color,  contrasting  with  the  soles  of  her  feet,  which,  coming 
into  view  as  she  danced,  showed  a  bright  tan.  She  had 
full,  bright  eyes  and  regular  small  features,  a  not  thick- 
lipped  though  wide  mouth,  constantly  showing  glimpses  of 
white  teeth;  a  small,  well-shaped  head  scantily  covered 
with  short,  kinked,  sunburned  hair — upon  the  whole  a  very 
lively  and  not  uncomely  African  lass. 

"You,  Jane  I"  sounds  again  the  wheezy  voice,  apparently 
strained  to  its  utmost. 

Her  only  response  to  this  was  a  new  air  with  the  words : 

"Bullfrog  laid  in  de  bottom  ob  de  spring, 
He  was  so  cold  he  could  not  sing; 
His  tail  was  tied  to  a  hickory  stump — 
He  r'ar'd  and  pitched,  but  couldn't  make  a  Jump." 


398  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Then  she  seemed  preparing  to  dance  a  breakdown  to  this 
lively  song,  but  suddenly  changed  her  mind,  resuming  the 
dancing  air  with  which  she  had  begun,  and  was  beginning 
to  exhibit  again  her  fine-lady  airs,  when,  seeing  Thornton 
looking  at  her,  she  suddenly  dropped  them  all,  as  a  peacock 
drops  his  plumes,  and,  with  a  frightened  look,  ran  away 
out  of  sight. 

Thornton,  walking  along  the  front  of  the  house,  saw 
seated  within  the  hall  door,  in  a  rocking  chair,  his  old 
friend,  Joe  Sterrett.  He  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  without 
cravat  or.  stock,  his  shirt-bosom  open,  and  a  long  beard 
trailing  on  his  breast.  Shaking  his  head  slowly  and  mourn 
fully,  he  muttered  to  himself,  "0  Lor — Gor — A'mighty,  0 
Lor — !"  Then  he  called  out  in  the  same  wheezy  voice, 
"You,  Jane  !"  Then  he  renewed  his  lamentation,  "0  Lor — 
0  Lor — Gor — A'mighty  I"  Then  seeing  Thornton  but  not 
recognizing  him,  "Come  in,  sir,  and  have  a  seat — You, 
Jane  I" 

Then  Jane  came  skipping  through  the  back  way  into  the 
hall,  and,  confronting  Thornton,  looked  excessively  foolish, 
and  halted  behind  her  master's  chair. 

"You,  Jane!"  he  called  again. 

"Yas,  sir ;  here  I  is." 

"Where  the  devil  have  you  been?  Take  a  seat,  sir,  and 
have  something.  Where  is  your  horse?"  Then  he  looked 
at  Thornton,  staring  like  a  man  that  sees  a  ghost;  then 
jumped  to  his  feet — "Why,  great  Pompey's  statue!  The 
dead's  alive !  Where  did  you  come  from  ?  Why,  Thornton ! 
my  dear  old  friend!"  seizing  his  hand.  Then  looking 
eagerly  into  each  other's  eyes  they  had  a  long  and  hearty 
handshaking.  Then  Sterrett  called  out,  "Jane,  get  me  my 
coat — lay  me  out  a  clean  shirt  in  my  room — get  my  things." 
And  Jane  disappeared  up  the  stairway.  "Thornton — Dick 
Thornton,  sit  down  here  while  I  get  on  something  decent. 
I'll  not  be  long." 

Jane  now  appeared  again,  announcing  all  ready  upstairs, 
and  Sterrett,  telling  her  to  make  Mr.  Thornton  a  ;julep, 
went  up  the  easy  stairway  to  his  chamber. 

Soon  Thornton  heard  a  hammering  and  then  a  jingling 
sound  in  a  room  near  by,  and,  a  few  minutes  after,  Jane 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends  399 

made  her  appearance.  She  had  put  on  a  white  apron,  and 
smoothed  the  scanty  wool  on  her  head,  looking  quite  pol 
ished  up.  She  brought  in  her  hand  a  small  silver  waiter, 
on  which  rested  a  large  goblet  covered  and  tightly  packed 
with  crushed  ice,  through  which  a  handful  of  mint  seemed 
to  be  growing.  A  spoon  was  frozen  in  on  one  side,  and  a 
rye  straw  projected  two  inches  above  the  glass  and  reached 
the  bottom.  Thornton  was  little  given  to  drink,  but  he 
had  had  a  long  ride,  and  felt  in  need  of  a  gentle  stimulant, 
and  thinking  it  good  policy  not  to  make  any  abrupt  move 
ment  against  Sterrett,  his  nose  was  soon  buried  in  the 
fragrant  mint. 

Jane  stood  by  looking  at  him  attentively  while  he  drank. 
She  asked  if  the  julep  suited  him. 

"The  best  julep  I  ever  drank,"  he  answered. 

"Is  you  Mr.  Bob  Thornton's  brother?  I  used  to  make 
him  juleps  when  ne  corned  here — he  likes  my  juleps." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Bob  Thornton  is  my  brother.  I  don't  wonder 
that  he  likes  your  juleps.  But,  Jane,  why  didn't  you  make 
one  for  your  master — don't  he  like  your  juleps  ?" 

"Yas,  sir;  he  do  like  'em,  but  he's  done  had  his,  dis 
mornin' — all  he's  gwine  to  git" — here  she  looked  up  the 
stairway  at  the  tall  clock  on  the  landing — "till  two  o'clock. 
We  only  'lows  him  three  a  day.  If  you's  a  brother  of  Mr. 
Bob  Thornton,  please  not  to  take  any  mo'  till  dat  time, 
an'  den  you  can  drink  together,  an'  chink  glasses." 

Thornton  promised  not  to  take  any  more  until  two 
o'clock ;  and  indeed  not  to  take  any  more  at  all,  if  that  was 
desired. 

"Oh,  no,  sir;  if  you  wants  it,  take  one  when  he  takes 
his  at  two  o'clock,  an'  den  no  mo'  till  nine  o'clock;  den 
he  gits  some  hot  punch  in  de  libr'y,  an'  dat's  all." 

"Jane,"  said  Thornton,  "why  did  you  go  on  dancing  out 
there  while  your  master  was  calling  you  ? — Didn't  you  hear 
him?" 

"Yas,  sir ;  I  heered  him.  I  knowed  what  he  wanted ;  he 
wanted  mo'  julep  after  he  done  had  all  we  'lows  him  till 
two  o'clock.  'Twawn'  no  use  for  me  to  go  to  him — he'd  jes' 
keep  beggin'  for  mo',  an'  scoldin',  an'  makin'  out  he's  sick 


400  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

an'  like  to  die.    He  couldn't  git  no  mo'  outen  me  till  de 
time  come,  sho' !" — with  a  resolute  toss  of  the  head. 

"Jane,  where  did  you  learn  to  make  that  music  with 
your  mouth  ?  I  thought  it  was  two  fiddles." 

She  laughed  out,  showing  all  her  teeth,  and  then  caught 
her  mouth  with  her  hand,  suppressing  the  laugh  as  an  im 
propriety. 

"I  learnt  dat  at  de  balls,  down  at  Spring  Station,  at  Mr. 
Beall's,  an'  over  at  Major  Floyd's,  an'  at  Locust  Grove,  an' 
at  Lastlands,  an'  in  town  all  around  at  de  parties.  I  al 
ways  went  wid  Miss  'Manda,  an'  I  set  behind  de  musicians 
an'  I  kep'  tryin'  to  mawk  dat  music  till  I  came  pretty  nigh 
it.  Miss  'Manda  don't  go  to  parties  no  mo',  now." 

"I  suppose  you  learned  at  the  same  places  to  dance  and 
fan  yourself,  and  to  laugh  with  that  'hoo-hoo-hoo,  hah-hah 
— the — i-d-e-a-r.' r' 

"Yas,  sir,"  she  said,  breaking  again  into  a  laugh  and 
then  taking  her  mouth  into  custody,  "I  was  mawkin'  de 
young  ladies  den." 

"Jane,  suppose  your  master,  when  he  comes  down,  tells 
you  to  make  him  a  julep,  won't  you  be  obliged  to  do  it  ?" 

"Yas,  sir;  'cause  you  is  here;  but  if  you  warn't  here  I 
wouldn't  do  it." 

"How  would  you  help  it?" 

"I'd  run  away." 

"Do  you  keep  the  keys?" 

"Yas,  sir;  when  Miss  'Manda  is  away" — then  in  a  lower 
voice,  "He's  comin'  now,  please  not  to  take  any  mo'  till 
two  o'clock;  if  you  do  I'll  have  to  make  him  one,  too." 
Her  ear  was  turned  all  this  time  toward  the  stairway. 
"He's  comin'  now,"  she  said  in  a  whisper,  and  then,  seiz 
ing  the  tray  and  empty  goblet,  skipped  away  out  of  sight. 

Soon  after  this  Joe  Sterrett  came  down  the  stairway 
dressed  in  new  clothes,  and  clean  linen,  and  shining  boots, 
his  long,  curling  locks  brushed  back  behind  his  ears,  and, 
barring  the  long  beard,  looking  almost  as  young  and  hand 
some  as  the  Joe  of  other  days.  Thornton  looked  with 
surprise  at  the  metamorphosis,  and  complimented  him  up 
on  his  good  looks. 

"Well"  said  Sterrett,  "I  always  had  great  recuperative 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends  401 

powers,  and  I  take  a  polish  very  readily.  But  I  am  soft 
metal,  Dick,  and  tarnish  just  as  quickly.  When  you  came 
I  was  awfully  down  in  the  mouth.  'Manda  went  away  to 
a  business  meeting  at  the  church  this  morning,  and  I  let 
all  the  servants  except  the  old  cook  and  that  little  girl  go 
to  hear  a  funeral  sermon  over  at  the  Fork,  and  I  have  been 
moping  here  alone.  I  had  a  julep  before  you  came,  but 
I  wanted  another,  because  I  was  suffering  with  an  awful 
depression,  a  dreadful  sinking  sensation,  and  was  trying  to 
get  that  little  hussy,  Jane,  to  come  and  make  another,  but 
I  couldn't  get  her  near  me.  I  didn't  expect  her  to  come, 
for  she  is  under  orders  not  to  do  it,  but  I  was  just  killing 
time  by  practicing  on  her  fidelity,  and  groaning  away  my 
low  spirits.  Of  course,  she  would  obey  if  I  were  to  put  on 
my  paint  and  give  the  warwhoop ;  but  I  can't  do  that,  for 
she  is  acting  under  my  own  orders.  The  fact  is,  Dick,  I 
got  into  a  very  bad  way  there  in  town,  having  no  occupa 
tion,  and  before  I  knew  it  I  became  a  confirmed,  habitual 
drinker — no  mistake  about  it !  I  was  going  to  the  devil  as 
fast  as  Paragon  could  gallop,  when  John  Digby  prevailed 
on  me  to  come  to  the  farm;  or  rather  I  ought  to  say  that 
he  ordered  me  out  of  town,  and  never  let  me  rest  till  I 
came  here  to  live.  Since  that  time  I  have  mended  my  ways 
considerably.  My  wife  is  the  dearest  and  best  wife  on 
earth,  and  I  submit  myself  almost  absolutely  to  her  guid 
ance.  I  take  three  drams  a  day  and  no  more,  except  when 
the  presence  of  a  visitor  makes  more  a  necessary  act  of  hos 
pitality.  After  a  while  I  expect  to  take  only  two,  then  one, 
and  so  work  down  to  the  plane  of  total  abstinence.  Of 
course,  after  such  a  long  separation,  we  will  be  justifiable  in 
taking  to-day  as  much  as  we  please." 

"No,  no/'  said  Thornton,  emphatically;  "I  will  not  on 
any  account  break  in  upon  your  regular  order." 

"Well,  then,  we  will  take  one  together  at  two  o'clock,  and 
a  little  punch  to-night,  and  that  will  close  my  account  for 
the  day." 

After  much  talk,  Thornton  told  Sterrett  he  would  like  to 
walk  over  the  place,  which  he  had  very  often  visited  in 
Captain  Shelby's  time,  and  the  two  friends  went  out  for 
a  stroll.  Sterrett  was  all  the  time  apologizing  for  the  neg- 


402  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

lect  of  which  they  found  evidence  everywhere.  Thornton 
did  not  say  much,  oppressed  by  a  feeling  of  sadness  at 
seeing  the  beautiful  place,  in  which  the  good  old  Captain 
took  so  much  pride,  and  which  he  maintained  in  such  per 
fect  order,  showing  so  many  marks  of  neglect,  and  so 
much  disorder.  And  Sterrett,  carefully  avoiding  all  those 
points  where  neglect  was  most  apparent,  soon  tired  of  the 
inspection,  and  led  the  way  back  to  the  house.  There,  as 
the  clock  in  the  hall  struck  two,  Jane  was  summoned  to 
bring  them  some  drink.  But  Thornton  promptly  declined, 
saying  that  he  would  rather  not  drink;  that  the  julep  he 
had  already  drunk  had  made  him  uncomfortable;  that  he 
knew  that  he  would  be  better  without  it;  and  at  last  de 
clared  with  much  positiveness  that  he  would  not  have  it. 
He  had  interpreted  correctly  what  he  had  seen  and  heard, 
and  had  now  a  clear  view  of  the  sad  condition  of  his  old 
friend,  and  resolved  that  he  would  not  only  not  abet  his 
drinking,  but  would  at  once  use  all  means  in  his  power 
to  discourage  it.  There  was  more  seriousness  in  his  man 
ner  of  refusal  than  he  knew,  which  touched,  and  rallied  a 
little,  Sterrett's  pride,  and  he  also  declined  the  two  o'clock 
drink;  to  the  manifest  amazement  of  Jane. 

It  is  not  certain  that  Sterrett  would  have  been  able  to 
forego  an  indulgence  upon  which  his  mind  had  been  fixed 
for  the  last  three  or  four  hours,  but  for  the  opportune  ar 
rival  of  Mrs.  Sterrett  with  her  children,  a  fine  lad  of  ten 
and  two  little  girls  of  six  and  eight.  They  all  flew  to  kiss 
"father,"  and  were  introduced  to  Thornton  as  the  friend 
of  their  father  and  mother,  and  of  their  old  grandfather 
whom  the  children  held  in  tender  remembrance.  They 
soon  got  familiar  with  Thornton,  and  prattled  away  in  the 
liveliest  manner,  telling  him  of  all  the  acquaintances  they 
had  met  at  the  church,  and  giving  to  Sterrett's  heart  an 
exhilaration  beyond  reach  of  the  wine  cup.  And  so  the 
two  o'clock  drinking  was  bridged  over,  and  there  remained 
only  the  punch  at  night,  about  which  Jane  was  wondering 
greatly. 

The  rest  of  the  day  was  filled  up  by  dinner  and  talk. 
Joe's  wife  was  in  high  spirits,  which  seemed  to  spread  by 
contagion  through  the  household.  Thornton  afforded  them 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends  403 

much  entertainment;  relating  interesting  and  amusing  in 
cidents  of  travel,  and  describing  people  and  things  abroad. 
Jane,  in  a  clean  frock  and  apron,  and  shoes  and  stockings, 
stood  behind  her  mistress's  chair,  listening  with  a  coun 
tenance  all  ablaze,  but  with  a  decorous  gravity  of  which 
Thornton  would  not  have  believed  her  capable,  and  did 
not  once  have  occasion  to  put  her  mouth  under  arrest. 

When  tea  was  served  Sterrett  drank  two  cups  and  got 
into  a  full  flow  of  spirits,  coming  out  strong  with  his  old 
power  of  talk ;  mounting  his  favorite  hobby,  Native- Ameri 
canism,  and  showing  much  of  his  pristine  eloquence. 

About  nine  o'clock  Mrs.  Sterrett  announced  to  the  chil 
dren  that  their  bedtime  had  come,  and  Sterrett  invited 
Thornton  into  the  library.  The  children  protested  that 
they  were  not  sleepy,  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  stay 
up  and  hear  more  talk.  But  Joe  good-hum oredly  forbade 
this,  kissing  them  good-night,  and  telling  them  that  they 
would  see  Mr.  Thornton  next  day,  and  that  he  intended  to 
keep  him  for  some  time.  Then  he  and  Thornton  went  into 
the  library.  But  soon  the  children  followed  them  there,  in 
sisting  on  kissing  Thornton  good-night,  to  which  he  gladly 
acceded,  and  the  mother  then  led  them  away.  Outside  of 
the  library  door  they  were  heard  renewing  their  petition 
to  their  mother,  who  was  engaged  in  quieting  and  persuad 
ing  them  to  bed.  Meantime,  Sterrett,  who  felt  that  he 
had  carried  his  forbearance  to  a  most  meritorious  pitch, 
and  had  made  up  his  mind  to  do  full  justice  to  the  nine 
o'clock  punch,  was  growing  very  impatient  of  his  wife's 
delay  in  bringing  it  forward,  as  she  was  accustomed  to  do, 
presenting  it  with  her  own  hands.  At  last  he  went  out 
to  find  the  cause  of  the  delay.  He  left  the  door  ajar,  and 
Thornton  was  thus  made  an  involuntary  auditor  to  a 
short  colloquy  between  Sterrett  and  his  wife,  in  which  she 
explained  that  the  delay  had  been  caused  by  the  lingering 
of  the  children  downstairs,  and  her  unwillingness  to  allow 
them,  especially  the  boy,  to  see  her  in  the  act  of  providing 
drink  for  their  father.  Joe  made  an  ambiguous  ejacula 
tion  in  answer  to  this,  and  returned  to  the  library  with  a 
decided  cloud  on  his  face.  But  he  soon  put  on  a  look  of 
jollity  and  asked  Thornton  if  he  had  ever  drunk  any  juleps 


404  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

abroad.  But  before  this  question  was  answered  Mrs.  Ster- 
rett  came  in,  bringing  the  coveted  punch — two  tumblers — • 
on  a  waiter.  She  put  it  on  the  table  and  graciously  bade 
Thornton  good-night  But  it  was  plain  to  him  and  Ster- 
rett  that  her  face  had  lost  the  light  with  which  it  shone  an 
hour  before.  When  the  door  closed  behind  her,  Thornton 
answered  Sterrett's  question: 

"No,  I  saw  no  juleps  anywhere  abroad.  Mixed  drinks 
are  little  used  there.  But  you  know  I  was  never  much  as  a 
drinker,  and  the  more  I  have  seen  of  the  world,  and  of  the 
disastrous  effects  of  drink  everywhere,  the  less  I  have  been 
inclined  to  it.  Look  here  about  us  at  The  Falls.  How 
many  of  the  men  there  whom  you  would  have  classed  as 
moderate  drinkers,  when  I  went  away,  are  now  alive  ?  And 
of  the  survivors  how  many  are  reputable  men?  Some  few 
have  been  snatched  like  brands  from  the  fire ;  the  rest  have 
gone  to  drunkards'  graves,  or  have  sunk  into  utter  degra 
dation,  carrying  with  them  their  innocent  wives  and  chil 
dren.  There  was  my  brother  Bob — he  little  knows  how 
near  he  was  to  this  fate  I" 

"You  are  right  there,"  said  Sterrett;  "I  remember  well 
when  I  thought  Bob  was  going  to  the  bad,  and  it  grieved 
me  sadly,  and  made  poor  old  Captain  Shelby  miserable. 
I  never  dreamed  then  that  I  should  be  in  the  same  box 
myself.  But—" 

"The  descent  is  so  easy,"  quickly  interrupted  Thornton, 
"that  men  don't  know  how  fast  they  are  going  down,  nor 
how  far  they  have  gone  down,  until  some  shock  rouses 
them,  and  they  try  to  get  back  to  their  former  plane ;  and 
there  the  trouble  lies.  A  man's  power  of  will  weakens 
every  day  under  indulgence,  until  there  comes  at  last  a 
time  when  it  surrenders  altogether,  and  he  submits — 
humbly  submits — to  utter  degradation.  There  is  a  fatal 
period  in  the  career  of  every  drunkard  when  his  self-es 
teem  is  undermined  and  overthrown.  From  this  recovery 
is  hopeless. 

"I  knew  in  my  young  days  the  celebrated  Mr.  Ashley. 
He  went  into  political  life  very  young,  and  it  was  thought 
that  a  brilliant  career  lay  before  him.  He  was  eloquent 
and  popular,  and  as  beautiful  as  Apollo.  His  friends 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends  405 

thought  that  some  day  he  might  rival  even  Mr.  Clay, 
But  he  fell  into  the  fatal  slough  of  drink,  and  in  a  few 
years  died  a  drunkard.  1  had  an  interview  with  him,  a 
short  time  before  his  death,  down  at  my  little  office  at 
Digby's  warehouse.  A  claim  against  him  had  been  sent 
to  me  for  collection  by  a  friend.  It  was  for  money  bor 
rowed.  I  was  instructed  not  to  have  him  sued,  my  cor 
respondent  saying  that  he  would  rather  lose  the  debt  than 
that  this  should  be  done.  Of  all  this  I  informed  him 
when,  in  answer  to  a  note,  he  called  on  me  at  my  office. 
There  were  several  persons  there  when  he  came,  all  of 
whom  rose  out  of  respect  to  him,  but  it  was  impossible 
to  get  him  to  sit  down;  and  he  continued  standing  until 
they  all  went  away.  When  we  were  left  to  ourselves  he 
sat  down,  but  all  the  while  holding  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
and  demeaning  himself  before  me  as  if  he  were  in  the 
presence  of  a  superior.  I  tried  to  change  this  relation  by 
treating  him  with  marked  respect,  but  in  vain;  he  still 
maintained  the  humble  attitude  and  manner  of  an  in 
ferior,  which  gave  me  great  pain.  Moreover,  when  other 
persons  came  into  the  room,  he  immediately  vacated  his 
seat,  deferentially  offering  it  to  them,  and  withdrawing 
himself  from  the  fire:  and  all  this  not  in  the  manner  of 
ordinary  complaisance,  but  with  utter  and  pitiable  hu 
mility.  He  had  reached  that  fatal  stage,  of  which  I  spoke 
just  now,  where  all  sense  of  self-respect  had  died  out  of 
him.  Poor  gentleman,  what  a  noble  wreck  he  was !  He 
had  forgotten  the  debt,  or,  as  it  was  incurred  at  a  water 
ing-place,  in  a  community  of  purses  common  among  inti 
mates  then,  he  was  unaware  of  it.  His  friends,  who  had 
got  his  property  out  of  his  control,  were  not  inclined  to 
pay  it,  but  he  told  me  he  would  not  rest  the  sole  of  his 
foot  until  it  should  be  paid;  and  he  made  good  his  word. 
He  dogged  them,  as  I  learned,  like  a  man  possessed,  until 
it  was  paid;  protesting  that  he  would  not  die  owing  any 
man,  and  showing  in  this  such  a  spirit  of  determination 
as  leads  me  to  think,  now,  that  he  was  not  beyond  hope,  if 
the  proper  means  had  been  used.  I  saw  no  more  of  him 
after  this  money  was  paid,  and  soon  after  he  was  buried  in 
a  drunkard's  grave."  During  this  narrative  Sterrett's  eyes 


406  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

were  fixed  intently  upon  Thornton's  face,  his  features 
showing  manifest  emotion. 

"I  had  not  thought  of  him,"  continued  Thornton,  "for 
a  long  time,  when  I  met  the  other  day  in  town  his  son,  a 
noble-looking  young  fellow,  the  very  picture  of  what  his 
father  must  have  been  at  the  same  age.  As  I  looked  at  his 
bright  face  I  could  not  shut  out  from  my  mind  a  melan 
choly  foreboding  of  his  future.  For  it  is  indisputable  that 
as  the  sins  of  the  fathers  are  visited  on  the  children  of 
the  third  and  fourth  generation  (by  hereditary  taint,  if 
you  will) ,  so  vices  are  also  transmitted  by  the  natural  apt 
ness  of  children  for  imitation.  The  loving,  admiring  son 
can  see  no  fault  in  the  dear  father,  but  is  apt  to  think  even 
his  vices  decorous,  and  is  prone  to  copy  them — " 

Here  Sterrett  made  a  movement  which  arrested  this  dis 
course.  He  arose  suddenly  and  walked  along  the  floor, 
running  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  and  walking  to  and 
fro  across  the  room.  Then,  stopping  and  looking  intently 
at  Thornton,  he  seemed  about  to  speak,  but  forebore,  and 
resumed  his  walk  to  and  fro,  with  manifest  agitation. 

"Joe,"  said  Thornton,  "what  is  the  matter?  Have  I 
offended  you?" 

Sterrett  did  not  answer,  but  continued  to  pace  the  floor, 
but  now  more  slowly,  and  at  last,  standing  in  front  of 
Thornton,  he  said,  "No,  you  have  not  offended  me";  but 
holding  his  head  high,  and  turning  aside  with  an  air  that 
seemed  to  qualify  this  disclaimer. 

"Surely,"  said  Thornton,  "you  cannot  think  I  meant. to 
make  a  personal  application  of  what  I  have  been  relating 
to  you,  who  are  no  longer  in  the  category  of  drinking  men, 
but  on  the  highroad  to  the  plane  of  total  abstinence." 

"No,  no ;  you  have  not  offended  me.  That  was  a  foolish 
speech  of  mine,  and  false.  I  am  not  out  of  the  category 
of  drinking  men.  Nor  am  I  on  the  highroad  to  total  ab 
stinence.  I  am  a  drunkard  in  heart,  in  spirit,  in  deed; 
drinking  only  three  times  a  day  because  I  am  restrained 
from  drinking  more;  taking  just  enough  to  keep  in  re 
membrance  the  infernal  poison — the  best  device  in  the 
world  to  keep  me  from  ever  quitting  it  altogether.  And 
now  so  lowered — so  sunk  in  manly  tone,  that  I  grow  maud- 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends  407 

lin  even  on  that  allowance,  as  I  was  when  you  came  here 
this  morning.  I  am  far  down  that  easy  declivity  of  which 
you  have  spoken;  and  I  have  seen  through  a  glass  darkly, 
yawning  in  my  path,  that  dreadful  abyss  you  have  so  well 
described,  where  all  hope  must  be  abandoned.  I  have  been 
a  madman,  Thornton — a  madman !  But  your  visit  has 
brought  me  a  lucid  interval,  in  which  I  have  been  able  to 
see  myself.  I  have  been  spoiled — spoiled  all  my  life  by  in 
dulgence  ;  first  as  a  boy  by  my  dear  kind  guardian,  then  as 
a  man  by  my  loving  wife — spoiled  until  my  selfishness  has 
grown  beyond  measure.  I  have  missed  happiness  by  seek 
ing  it  within  myself,  when  it  can  come  only  reflectively, 
from  happiness  bestowed  on  others.  I  have  been  blind  to 
this.  Instead  of  making  my  wife's  happiness  the  main 
object  of  life,  I  have  made  her  miserable  by  a  vile  habit; 
filling  her  mind  with  vague  but  terrible  apprehensions, 
which  she  bears  about  with  her  everywhere;  poisoning  all 
the  pleasures  of  her  innocent  life.  Did  you  observe  to-day 
when  she  came  home,  and  saw  that  I  had  company,  how 
pale  she  grew?" 

"No,  I  did  not  observe  that." 

"Well,  I  did.  You  see,  it  scares  her,  when  she  comes 
home  from  visiting  or  from  church,  to  find  that  I  have 
company.  You  know  I  am  not  restricted  in  drink  when 
I  have  a  guest.  Did  you  think  that  she  showed  enough 
cordiality  to  you,  considering  that  you  are  such  an  old 
friend,  and  have  been  away  so  long?" 

"Well — yes.  I  thought  her  quite  cordial — as  much  so 
as  I  could  expect." 

"Well,  let  me  tell  you :  her  first — her  paramount  thought, 
when  she  saw  you,  was,  'Has  Joe  been  drinking  unduly 
because  of  his  company  ?'  Didn't  you  see  her  look  quickly 
into  my  face  and  how  see  scrutinized  it?  how  eagerly 
her  eyes  scanned  every  feature  of  my  countenance?  I  felt 
them  prowling  over  it  from  line  to  line,  in  search  of  evi 
dence  of  drink.  But  she  found  none,  and  then  her  face 
glowed,  and  she  sprang  to  you,  and  said  that  after  such 
a  long  absence  she  must  shake  hands  again." 

"Yes,  yes ;  I  remember  that." 

"Well,  if  she  had  found  a  trace  of  drink  on  my  face 


408  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

she  wouldn't — she  couldn't  have  done  that.  I  laughed  out 
right"  (here  he  laughed  hysterically)  "when  I  felt  her  eyes 
taken  off  me,  and  looked  at  her,  and  saw  the  light  in  her 
eyes:  that  and  the  second  handshaking  said  as  plainly  as 
if  she  had  spoken  the  words,  'He  has  not  been  drinking 
with  Joe!'" 

Thornton  made  no  response.  He  was  the  graver  man  of 
the  two  now,  and  waited  for  Sterrett,  who  had  resumed 
his  walk  up  and  down  the  room.  After  a  few  moments 
he  confronted  Thornton,  and  said,  with  a  strange  air  of 
exaltation,  "Dick  Thornton,  my  old  friend !  I  must  not 
continue  in  this  wretched  course.  I  must  quit  drink  alto 
gether,  and  at  once.  This  resolution  has  been  maturing  in 
my  mind  ever  since  we  were  at  dinner  to-day,  and  I  have 
been  struggling  to  fasten  it  there.  Your  visit  and  the 
happiness  it  has  diffused  through  my  little  household  have 
opened  my  eyes  to  possibilities  which  otherwise  might  never 
have  occurred  to  me.  I  had  thought  to  drink  that  tumbler 
of  punch,  but  that  it  should  be  the  last  I  would  ever  drink ; 
but  now  I  will  not  touch  it.  Moreover,  I  declare  and  prom 
ise  to  you  what  I  will  declare  and  promise  to  my  wife  to 
night,  and  what  I  have  often  refused  to  her  tearful  en 
treaties,  that  I  will  never  again  drink  spirituous  liquor." 

Thornton  rose  with  outstretched  hand,  and  Sterrett 
clasped  it,  but  said,  with  a  deprecating  gesture,  "Don't 
glorify  me,  Dick;  nor  encourage  me  to  put  on  the  airs 
of  a  man  who  has  saved  his  county,  because  I  have  re 
solved  to  give  up  a  vile  habit.  But  promise  to  stay  with 
me  a  little  while.  I  have  a  great  trial  to  undergo.  I  shall 
suffer  mental  and  physical  agony  of  which  you  can  have 
no  conception.  Even  now,  when  I  have  just  announced 
this  good  resolution,  the  demon  is  tugging  at  me,  and 
offering  relief  in  the  old,  bad  way.  You  are  so  strong, 
Dick;  I  want  to  lean  upon  you  just  a  little  while.  Will 
you  stay  with  me?" 

"Surely,  I  will.  I  will  do  anything  in  my  power — 
you  can't  tax  me  too  heavily  in  such  a  cause  as  this." 

"Well,  stay  with  me  to-morrow,  and  then  we  shall  see 
what  else  I  may  need  to  ask.  You  are  tired;  you  would 
like  to  go  to  bed.  Yes;  and  I  want  to  tell  my  wife  what 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends  409 

I  have  told  you.  Her  heart  warmed  to  yon  to-day  just 
because  you  did  not  drink  with  me.  What  will  she  say, 
when  I  tell  her  that  you  have  turned  me  away  from  my 
evil  course,  and  that  I  am  done  with  drink  forever  ?" 

As  he  gave  Thornton  his  candle  at  the .  door  of  his 
chamber  he  said,  "Dick,  you  were  sent  here  to-day  to 
save  me." 

"I  came  with  that  hope,  Joe/' 

"You  were  sent.  There  is  a  special  Providence  in  the 
fall  of  a  sparrow."  And  then  they  said  good-night. 

Next  morning  Thornton  was  up  very  early.  He  walked 
for  half  an  hour  about  the  place,  attended  by  Joe's  setters, 
meditating  upon  the  events  of  the  past  day,  and  revolving 
a  plan  to  give  Sterrett  occupation  and  an  interest  that 
should  hold  him  fast  in  his  good  resolution.  Then  he 
went  into  the  library,  where  the  bright  fire  of  light  brush 
wood  was  very  grateful,  for  the  heavy  dews  of  the  early 
fall  had  filled  the  air  with  dampness.  The  two  tumblers 
of  punch  were  still  upon  the  table.  While  he  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  fire  looking  at  the  portraits  on  the  walls, 
familiar  to  him  in  past  years,  -and  reckoned  now  among 
the  household  gods  of  the  family,  and  had  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  a  youthful  picture  of  Mr.  Randolph,  brought  from 
Virginia,  and  was  scrutinizing  its  delicate,  wan  features,  a 
light,  swift  step  was  heard  in  the  hall,  and  then  the  door 
was  opened  and  Mrs.  Sterrett  entered.  Her  eyes  were 
radiant  with  happiness  as  she  looked  at  Thornton.  Then, 
as  she  cast  a  glance  about  the  room,  and  saw  the  two  glasses 
on  the  table  full  as  she  had  left  them  the  night  before,  a 
cloud  came  over  her  face.  She  stood  still,  looking  wist 
fully  at  Thornton,  and  as  he  advanced  to  greet  her,  she 
put  up  her  lip  like  a  little  child  and  burst  into  tears,  and 
fell  on  Thornton's  shoulder  and  sobbed  convulsively.  "Oh, 
Mr.  Thornton,"  she  said,  with  broken  voice,  "my  dear  old 
father  loved  all  you  Thorntons.  He  was  the  friend  of 
your  father.  He  used  to  tell  us  over  and  over  what  true 
friends  you  are.  How  can  we  ever  thank  you  enough  for 
what  you  have  done?  You  can't  know  how  happy  yon 
have  made  us  all.  Joe  is  safe  now.  He  will  never  break  a 
promise !" 


410  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Sterrett  did  not  make  his  appearance  till  late  in  the 
morning.  Then  he  looked  a  little  haggard,  but  was  by 
no  means  so  nervous  as  he  had  himself  apprehended. 
Thornton  had  arranged  the  programme  for  the  day — in 
deed,  for  a  week  or  longer — and  had  got  Mrs.  Sterrett's 
consent  that  they  would  all  go  to  Lastlands  for  a  week  or 
more.  But  Sterrett  demurred.  He  would  go  the  next  day 
or  the  next  week.  Familiar  as  he  had  been  there,  and  for 
so  long  a  time,  he  felt  now  a  strange  shyness  at  going 
to  Lastlands.  He  remembered  some  failings  there,  and  a 
sense  of  shame  came  over  him  at  the  thought  of  facing 
that  household.  He  took  Thornton  aside,  and  tried  to  con 
vince  him  that  some  delay  would  be  best.  "I  want  to  get 
off  this  beard,"  he  said.  "You  don't  suppose  I  wear  it 
from  affectation?  No,  indeed!  I  never  had  any  of  that. 
I  must  explain :  I  never  had  a  servant  that  could  shave  me, 
and  when  I  got  my  nerves  upset  my  hand  used  to  shake, 
and  I  cut  myself.  At  last,  one  morning,  while  shaving,  a 
dreadful  idea  entered  my  mind — an  impulse  to  draw  the 
razor  across  my  throat.  I  recoiled  from  it  then,  but  it 
came  back  to  me  again  and  again,  stronger  at  each  re 
currence,  and,  at  last,  so  vividly  that  I  could  see  the  purple 
gash  already  there,  and  feel  the  hot  blood  rushing  out. 
This  feeling  was  no  doubt  akin  to  that  strange  perversity 
which  impels  men  to  throw  themselves  from  high  places, 
and  which  has  sent  its  victims  even  into  the  crater  of 
Vesuvius.  But  in  my  case  it  was  born  of  drink.  It  was 
one  of  the  terrible  suggestions  that  the  demon  of  the  still 
is  ever  whispering.  I  became  at  last  so  fearful  of  a  catas 
trophe,  that  one  day  I  bundled  my  razors  and  rode  over 
to  the  Fork,  and  threw  them  all  far  out  into  the  'Deep 
Hole/  and  have  not  shaved  since." 

"You  have  given  excellent  reasons  why  you  should  go  at 
once  to  Lastlands.  You  want  a  change  of  scene.  Old  Tom 
shall  take  off  the  beard;  Russell  is  coming  out  this  week; 
I  have  had  a  nice  light  boat  put  in  the  Anser;  we  shall 
fish  and  shoot  and  divert  ourselves  in  the  preserves  there, 
and  in  any  way  we  please.  Bob  can't  say  me  nay  to  any 
thing.  The  laws  of  Lastlands  are  at  my  command.  So 
boot,  boot,  Master  Sterrett!  Your  wife  has  ordered  the 


The  Meeting  of  Old  Friends  411 

carriage  for  herself  and  the  children  and  her  maid,  and 
you  must  ride  with  me." 

This  jovial  eloquence  was  soon  after  reinforced  bv  Ster- 
rett's  wife,  who  came  in,  a  picture  of  happiness,  and  in  an 
hour  after  the  carriage  rolled  away  with  Joe's  happy  house 
hold,  escorted  by  himself  and  Thornton  as  outriders. 


CHAPTER  XL1I 

MAJOR  LECOMPTE 

"I  am  no  orator  as  Brutus  is; 
But,  as  you  know  me  all,  a  plain,  blunt  man." 

THE  route  of  Eussell  and  Stackpole  returning  to  The 
Falls  lay  through  a  part  of  the  Congressional  district  rep 
resented  by  Major  Lecompte,  where  a  warm  and  active  can 
vass  was  then  going  on.  Major  Lecompte  was  a  substantial 
farmer,  a  Jackson  Democrat,  who,  in  spite  of  the  majority 
of  the  voters  of  the  district  being  Republican,  or  Clay  men, 
had  by  his  personal  popularity  carried  the  elections,  year 
after  year,  against  many  of  the  strongest  men  of  the  oppo 
sition.  And  this,  it  was  said,  he  did  without  having  any 
marked  talent,  but  only  simplicity  of  character,  a  kindly 
temper,  immaculate  integrity,  and  great  industry  and  per 
severance.  These  qualities  and  a  good  record  as  a  soldier 
in  the  war  of  1812  were  said  to  constitute  his  qualification 
for  success  in  politics.  As  to  eloquence,  he  was  not  even 
suspected  of  that. 

Curious  to  see  and  hear  this  famous  man, — famous  by 
reason  of  repeated  victories  won  under  adverse  circum 
stances,  and  with  supposed  slender  resources, — Russell  and 
Stackpole  went  some  miles  out  of  their  direct  road  through 
Shelbyville,  to  hear  a  debate  which  would  take  place  that 
day,  between  him  and  a  new  antagonist,  Mr.  Wilson,  a 
novice  in  politics,  not  well  known  to  the  people,  but  an 
able  lawyer  and  an  adroit  debater.  They  found  the  place 
of  meeting  in  a  primitive  forest,  where  a  great  number  of 
people,  old  and  young,  male  and  female,  were  assembled, 
not  only  to  hear  the  political  debate,  but  to  enjoy  also  a 
barbecue  and  dance.  Narrow  tables  of  boards  were  stretched 
in  long  lines  beneath  the  trees,  a  circular  space  had  been 

412 


Major  Lecompte  413 

cleared,  and  the  surface  of  the  ground  beaten  hard  and 
smooth  for  the  dancers,  and  a  stand  set  up  for  the  speak 
ers.  Dinner  was  just  over  when  our  travelers  got  on  the 
ground,  but  a  man  came  forward,  a  large  man  dressed  in 
light  homespun,  with  a  whip  under  his  arm,  and  courte 
ously  conducted  them  to  the  tables,  now  deserted  by  the 
people,  who  were  thronging  toward  the  stand  where  Mr. 
Wilson  was  about  to  open  the  debate.  Being  within  easy 
earshot  of  the  speaker,  the  strangers  did  not  abate  any 
thing  from  what  was  necessary  to  satisfy  their  sharp  appe 
tites,  but  leisurely  took  all  they  needed,  from  the  ample 
stores  before  them ;  the  man  with  the  whip  politely  supple 
menting  these  with  what  Stackpole  called  "vin  de  pays," 
a.  French  name  given  by  him  to  our  native  beverage. 

When  their  repast  was  ended,  and  they  had  joined  the 
crowd  about  the  speaker's  stand,  Mr.  Wilson  was  nearing 
the  close  of  his  speech.  His  general  aim  had  been  to  show 
the  unfitness  of  his  opponent  to  represent  the  district, 
chiefly  on  account  of  his  hostility  to  the  tariff  and  the  in 
ternal  improvement  measures  brought  forward  by  Mr. 
Clay,  which  measures  the  speaker  maintained  to  be  vital 
to  the  prosperity  of  the  country.  These  had  been  the  chief 
topics  of  Mr.  Wilson's  speeches  in  the  canvass,  and  had 
been  well  studied.  His  address,  as  Russell  bears  witness, 
was  fluent,  methodical,  and  very  plausible.  He  elaborated 
especially  the  tariff  question  here,  because  this  was  a  hemp- 
growing  region,  and  many  of  the  people  were  interested  in 
maintaining  the  duty  on  foreign  hemp.  To  this  direct 
interest  he  appealed,  denouncing  the  opposition  of  Major 
Lecompte  to  these  measures  as  hostility  to  the  best  inter 
ests  of  his  constituents.  And,  strange  to  say,  all  that  were 
now  engaged  in  the  cultivation  of  hemp,  even  they  that 
heretofore  steadfastly  held  the  Democratic  doctrine  against 
protection,  now  insisted  that  the  duty  on  foreign  hemp 
ought  to  be  maintained !  Just  as  we  see  Democrats  in 
Pennsylvania,  while  maintaining  the  conclusiveness  of  the 
arguments  against  protection  generally,  yet  insisting  that, 
somehow,  these  arguments  do  not  apply  in  the  case  of  pig 
iron! 

The  last  point  made  by  Mr.  Wilson  was  entirely  per- 


414  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

sonal,  that  Major  Lecompte  was  an  unfit  representative  of 
the  district,  because  of  his  want  of  education.  This  was 
illustrated  by  quoting  from  his  speeches  specimens  of  bad 
English — what  Mr.  Wilson  called  "murdering  the  King's 
English."  This  attack,  so  pointed  and  personal,  incensed 
the  friends  of  Major  Lecompte  in  such  a  degree  that  some 
of  them  made  demonstrations  to  interrupt  the  speaker,  and 
a  Mr.  Onan  called  out,  "Oh,  we've  had  talkin'  enough; 
what's  the  use  of  interruptin'  the  people's  amusements? 
They  want  to  dance."  And  he  even  took  his  fiddle  in  hand, 
as  if  about  to  play.  But  Major  Lecompte  arose  at  once, 
and  with  much  dignity  rebuked  his  partisans.  "No,  my 
friends,"  he  said;  "no,  John  Onan;  put  away  that  fiddle. 
Remember,  Mr.  Wilson  is  a  stranger  here !" 

This  was  said  in  a  very  impressive  manner,  and  the  dis 
orderly  movement  was  instantly  checked.  But  it  was  mani 
festly  not  agreeable  to  Mr.  Wilson  to  be  treated  as  a 
stranger,  since  in  the  course  of  his  address  he  had  labored 
to  identify  himself  with  the  district  and  all  its  interests. 
No  further  attempt  was  made  to  interrupt  the  speaker, 
though  some  of  the  audience  behaved  very  impolitely;  Mr. 
John  Onan  often  yawning  ostentatiously,  stretching  his 
arms  above  his  head,  and  opening  his  wide  mouth  to  its 
full  extent.  And  many  persons  began  to  move  out  of  the 
crowd,  making  confusion,  while  others  straggled  away  from 
the  stand,  so  that  Mr.  Wilson  could  no  longer  maintain  a 
hold  on  the  audience.  Few  besides  the  hemp  growers  main 
tained  an  attitude  of  attention.  Under  these  discouraging 
circumstances  he  closed  his  speech. 

A  moment  after,  when  Major  Lecompte  rose  to  reply,  the 
aspect  of  the  assembly  was  instantly  changed.  The  people 
once  more  crowded  about  the  stand,  the  stragglers  fell  into 
line,  the  large  audience  was  silent,  and  the  eyes  of  all  were 
turned  with  a  look  of  quiet  expectation  upon  the  kindly 
face  of  the  speaker.  He  began  by  lamenting  the  offer  that 
had  been  made  to  interrupt  the  speech  of  his  opponent, 
again  rebuking  his  friends,  reminding  them  of  the  tradi 
tional  hospitality  of  their  fathers,  whose  latchstrings  were 
never  pulled  in,  and  with  whom  stranger  was  a  sacred 
name.  This  he  insisted  upon  with  such  seriousness  as  made 


Major  Lecompte  415 

Mr.  Wilson  seem  a  stranger  in  his  own  land.  Then  he 
paused  a  moment,  surveying  the  audience  and  giving  a 
sharp,  scrutinizing  look  at  the  hemp  growers,  who  had 
gravitated  together  and  now  stood  in  a  group.  He  had 
observed  on  their  faces  a  look  of  satisfaction  when  Mr. 
Wilson  promised  that,  if  he  should  have  the  honor  to 
represent  them  in  Congress,  "they  should  have  ample  pro 
tection  for  their  most  valuable  and  important  staple." 

It  is  necessary  to  inform  the  reader  that  Major  Lecompte 
had  hitherto  by  his  votes  in  Congress  supported  the  tariff 
measures  of  Mr.  Clay,  and  had  voted  for  the  then  subsist 
ing  tariff,  that  of  1828.  But  after  the  adjournment  of 
Congress  he  had  repudiated  that  measure,  and  announced 
his  resolution  never  again  to  cast  a  vote  in  that  direction. 
It  was  plain  that  it  would  not  be  good  policy  for  Major 
Lecompte  to  express  here  his  now  strong  hostility  to  the 
protective  policy.  In  other  places  where  he  and  Mr.  Wil 
son  had  met — where  the  people  were  known  to  be  opposed 
to  this  policy — he  had  bared  his  arm  and  spared  not.  And 
Mr.  Wilson,  on  his  part,  had  there  used  great  moderation 
in  his  advocacy  of  that  policy.  But  here  these  conditions 
were  reversed.  These  hemp  growers,  most  of  whom  had 
been  warm  friends  of  Major  Lecompte  before,  in  an  evil 
hour  for  him,  they  took  to  growing  hemp,  now  showed 
to  his  practiced  eye  symptoms  of  revolt,  and  might  be  all 
turned  into  active  opponents  if  he  should  not  use  great 
discretion  in  this  debate.  Over  his  usual  look  of  frank 
kindliness  there  was  spread  a  thin  veil  of  circumspection. 
"When  the  clouds  threaten  rain,  wise  men  put  on  their 
cloaks."  He  said : 

"By  the  terms  agreed  upon  by  Mr.  Wilson  and  me,  each 
is  allowed  an  hour  in  this  debate.  He  has  occupied  his 
time  almost  exclusively  with  the  discussion  of  the  tariff, 
and  has  challenged  me  to  give  full  expression  to  my  opin 
ions  upon  that  question.  This  I  cannot  possibly  do  in  the 
short  time  allotted  to  me.  It  is  a  great  question,  and  a 
complex  question.  It  was  a  simple  enough  question  when 
our  fathers  first  dealt  with  it,  when  it  was  called  by  its 
right  name,  a  name  that  expressed  its  purpose,  a  customs 
tax,  and,  like  all  taxes,  justified  only  by  necessity.  But  it 


416  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

has  become  now  the  knottiest  question  before  the  country, 
knotted  and  tangled  by  the  cunning  of  men,  and  twisted 
up  with  private  and  sectional  interests,  until  there  is  no 
task  more  tedious  or  more  difficult  than  to  unwind  its 
multitudinous  folds  and  involutions,  and  show  its  precise 
relation  to  the  various  interests  of  the  country.  With  the 
change  of  its  name,  it  has  sprouted  and  branched  into  so 
many  new  shapes,  that  I  should  tire  your  patience  by  only 
enumerating  them.  There  is  your  ad  valorem  tariff,  your 
tariff  of  specific  duties,  your  foreign  valuation  and  your 
home  valuation  tariffs,  vour  tariff  of  minimum  valua 
tion—" 

"Oh,  never  mind  the  tariff,  Uncle  Joe,"  cried  voices  from 
all  sides. 

"But,  fellow  citizens,  how  am  I  to  decline  Mr.  Wilson's 
challenge?  I  am  ready  to  take  up  this  subject  with  all  its 
ramifications.  It  will  take  the  remainder  of  the  day;  it  is 
a  dry—" 

"Oh,  never  mind  it  now — some  other  time !"  came  vocif 
erously  from  all  quarters. 

"Well,  as  you  please.  But  I  must  be  allowed  to  say  just 
a  word  upon  the  subject.  I  am  not,  as  Mr.  Wilson  seems 
to  think,  opposed  to  all  tariffs.  Nor  is  the  Democratic 
party  opposed  to  all  tariffs,  as  he  has  unjustly  charged.  But 
I  am  opposed,  and  the  Democratic  party  is  opposed,  to  all 
taxes  upon  the  people,  whether  by  means  of  a  tariff  or 
otherwise,  except  for  the  necessities  of  the  government. 
Mr.  Wilson  has  cited  my  votes  in  Congress  in  support  of 
the  present  tariff — votes  for  which  I  now  do  penance  in 
sackcloth  and  ashes !  That  you  may  know  the  character  of 
this  act,  I  will  cite  just  one  of  its  provisions:  that  which 
provides  for  what  is  called  a  minimum  valuation.  Here 
is  the  section:  'All  cotton  goods  that  cost  twenty  cents  a 
yard  shall  pay  a  duty  of  thirty  per  cent.  All  cotton  goods 
that  cost  less  than  twenty  cents  a  yard  shall  (nevertheless) 
be  deemed  to  have  cost  twenty  cents,  and  shall  be  rated 
accordingly  and  pay  a  duty  of  thirty  per  cent.' 

"Accordingly,  cotton  goods  that  cost  twenty  cents,  fine 
chintzes  and  cambrics,  worn  by  the  rich,  are  taxed  thirty 
per  cent.,  or  six  cents,  while  the  cotton  that  costs  six  cents, 


Major  Lecompte  417 

worn  by  the  poor,  is  falsely  deemed  to  have  cost  twenty 
cents,  and  is  also  taxed  six  cents,  which  is  one  hundred 
per  cent. !  And  thus,  while  the  rich  city  dame  pays  on 
her  fine  French  and  English  fabric  only  thirty  per  cent., 
the  poor  country  girl  is  taxed  on  her  cotton  frock  one  hun 
dred  per  cent. !  Could  unscrupulousness  and  audacity  in 
laying  unequal  taxes  go  beyond  this?  No  wonder  the  act 
has  been  called  'a  bill  of  abominations.'  Of  COUESE  I  am 
ashamed  that  I  did  not  vote  against  it.  But  I  did  not  then 
see  the  force  and  effect  of  this  provision,  and  it  deceived 
better  men  than  I  am.  There  are  plenty  of  such  con 
trivances,  the  devices  of  cunning  men,  experts  in  this 
business  of  plundering  the  poor. 

"But  it  does  not  follow,  because  I  am  opposed  to  such 
unfair  discrimination  as  this,  that  I  am  opposed  to  every 
tariff,  as  Mr.  Wilson  would  have  you  believe.  Nor  is  the 
Democratic  party  opposed  to  all  tariffs.  But  we  want  fair 
play,  and  if  I  shall  have  the  honor  of  again  representing 
you,  and  if  protection  shall  be  the  order  of  the  day,  and 
no  form  of  labor  protected  except  manufacturing  labor,  I 
shall  insist  that  Kentucky  hemp  shall  stand  on  as  favorable 
a  footing  as  any  other  manufactured  article;  for  I  maintain 
that  as  it  is  sold  by  our  farmers  it  is  already  a  manufac 
tured  article,  and  should  not  be  longer  classed  as  raw  mate 
rial.  The  manipulation  and  labor  required  to  convert  it, 
from  the  crude  stalk,  into  the  fine  textile  material  of  com 
merce  entitles  it  to  be  so  considered.  Moreover,  this  labor 
is  all  manual  labor,  unaided  by  chemical  art  or  the  genius 
of  the  mechanical  inventor. 

"I  will  say  only  a  few  words  more ;  for  I  know  the  young 
people  here  would  rather  be  dancing  than  listening  to  an 
old  man's  talk ;  but  I  want  to  offer  an  explanation  in  answer 
to  Mr.  Wilson's  reproach  to  me  that  I  lack  education,  which 
is  quite  true;  and  that  I  have  been  guilty  of  murdering 
the  King's  English,  which  I  will  not  deny/' 

The  speaker  now  changed  his  position,  walking  forward 
to  the  edge  of  the  platform,  where  he  stood  a  moment, 
silent,  looking  with  a  serious  face  over  the  assembly,  and 
then  continued :  "You  know,  my  friends, — certainly  all 
the  old  men  here  know, — that  when  I  was  young  there  was 


418  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

not  much  school  teaching  in  these  parts.  The  schoolmaster 
was  not  abroad  here  then,  and  your  fathers  and  I  got  but 
little  learning.  Besides,  the  war  with  the  British  came  on, 
and  we  left  everything  to  join  the  army,  and  march  against 
the  enemy.  While  Mr.  Wilson  was  learning  his  lessons  at 
the  academy,  we  had  muskets  in  our  hands,  and  were  wad 
ing  knee-deep  or  up  to  the  middle  in  the  swamps  of  Can 
ada,  fighting  the  enemies  of  our  country.  But  the  army 
is  itself  a  great  school,  and  it  was  there,  in  that  three  years' 
war,  I  got  the  best  part  of  my  education ;  and  it  was  there, 
perhaps,  that  I  learned  to  murder  the  King's  English." 

As  he  paused  after  this  fine  passage,  there  was  none  of 
the  usual  applause,  but  there  was  the  best  of  all  applause, 
almost  absolute  silence,  the  audience  only  fetching  an  audi 
ble  breath,  and  pressing  forward  by  a  common  impulse,  and 
gathering  more  closely  about  the  speaker.  The  man  with 
the  whip,  stretching  his  long  arms  over  a  number  of  those 
in  front  of  him,  enfolding  some  half  dozen,  said  in  a 
stage  whisper,  "Boys,  old  Joe's  a-talkin'  now." 

Then  Major  Lecompte  resumed,  saying,  with  a  smile,  "I 
don't  think  I  ought  to  say  anything  more  to  keep  you  from 
your  amusement.  I  know  that  you  old  men  here,  many  of 
whom  have  marched  by  my  side,  elbow  to  elbow,  shoulder 
to  shoulder,  are  not  going  to  turn  me  off  now  for  a  raw 
recruit  that  has  never  smelt  powder.  And  you  young  men" 
(looking  now  away  from  the  hemp  growers  to  the  throng 
of  stalwart  youth  too  poor  to  own  slaves  and  plant  hemp, 
and  independent  of  protection),  "will  you  turn  out  an 
old  horse  that  any  of  you  can  plough  with  a  single  line, 
and  put  in  a  proud,  high-headed  young  steed  that  you  have 
never  tried,  and  don't  know,  that  comes  nickering  through 
these  woods  to-day  for  the  first  time?" 

The  yell  that  sent  back  the  negative  answer  to  this  ques 
tion  left  no  doubt  that  victory  was  with  the  Major !  There 
was  a  proud  air  about  him  now,  as  he  stood  with  head  erect, 
victorious,  triumphant,  and  yet  magnanimous;  for  in  a 
moment  he  added,  "But  Mr.  Wilson  must  be  met  kindly 
here.  Take  him  around  and  introduce  him  to  the  ladies, 
and  let  him  have  a  dance  and  take  away  with  him  a  pleas 
ant  impression  of  our  people." 


Major  Lecompte  419 

With  this  fresh  appeal  in  his  behalf  to  the  hospitality 
of  the  people,  which  made  Mr.  Wilson  seem  as  alien  to  the 
precinct  as  if  he  were  an  unnaturalized  foreigner,  Major 
Lecompte  concluded. 

Then  everybody  repaired  to  the  dancing-grounds,  where 
a  reel  was  soon  afoot,  to  the  lively  strains  of  Mr.  Onan's 
fiddle,  Major  Lecompte  capering  with  the  rest.  Meantime, 
the  man  with  the  whip  was  busy  with  those  that  loitered 
about  the  outskirts  of  the  dancing-ground,  shaking  hands, 
and  putting  his  arms  over  their  shoulders,  and  embracing 
them  in  his  affectionate  way ;  often  taking  a  group  of  them 
away  behind  the  pawpaw  bushes,  where  his  horse  stood  with 
a  large  pack,  from  which  he  dispensed  "refreshments." 

In  Kussell's  journal,  from  which  this  account  is  taken 
almost  literally,  is  the  following  dramatic  sketch,  which 
throws  further  light  upon  the  methods  of  Major  Lecompte's 
canvass : 

Scene. — Barbecue  grounds  behind  the  pawpaw  bushes. 
Enter  man  with  the  whip,  bearing  a  jug  with  a  corncob 
stopper,  followed  by  several  countrymen. 

Man  with  the  whip. — "Boys,  it's  no  use  talkin' — the  old 
man  is  too  good-natured.  He  ought  to  have  let  him  have  it 
right  between  the  eyes  !" 

First  Countryman. — "Whaddid  he  mean  by  talkin'  about 
old  Joe's  killin'  the  Briddish  ?" 

Second  Countryman. — "Yes,  thafs  whad  I  want  to 
know." 

Third  Countryman. — "Why,  he  called  it  nrarderin'  'em  I" 

Man  with  the  whip. — "Boys,  you've  heerd  of  such  things 
as  Tories,  in  the  old  war.  They  ain't  all  dead.  He's  ag'in' 
old  .Joe  because  old  Joe  went  ag'in'  the  British." 

Countrymen,  speaking  all  together. — "Hell !" 

It  is  a  historical  fact  that  Major  Lecompte  was  elected 
by  a  handsome  majority,  and  that  he  voted  for  Mr.  Clay's 
compromise  measure,  providing  for  the  gradual  reduction 
of  the  tax  to  the  revenue  standard,  twenty  per  cent.  But 
there  was  a  falling  off  in  his  vote  in  the  hemp  region,  and 
two  years  after,  when  the  cultivation  of  hemp  had  been 


430  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

greatly  extended  in  this  district,  he  was  defeated,  and  died 
without  going  again  to  Congress.  It  is  also  true  that  since 
the  introduction  free  of  duty  of  many  cheap  substitutes 
for  hempen  fabrics,  the  cultivation  of  hemp  has  declined 
in  that  district,  and  that  with  this  decline  the  people  have 
returned  to  their  old  political  allegiance,  and  are  now  rep 
resented  by  an  anti-protection  Democrat.  All  of  which  is 
commended  to  the  philosophic  student  of  history. 

Eussell  and  Stackpole  made  their  way  to  Lastlands, 
where  they  passed  the  night;  Stackpole  going  next  day  to 
look  after  business  in  town,  while  Russell  remained,  finding 
Mr.  Joe  Sterrett  and  his  wife  there. 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

AN   OLD  ROMAN 

"Other  Romans  shall  arise. 

Heedless  of  a  soldier's  name; 
Sounds,  not  arms,  shall  win  the  prize." 

JUST  before  Russell  and  Stackpole  set  out  for  the  Blue- 
grass,  Col.  Jonah  Swell,  of  Tickville,  who  had  been  for 
several  years  a  member  of  the  State  Senate  and  now  as 
pired  to  a  seat  in  Congress  from  the  district  of  which  the 
new  city  was  a  part,  came  on  an  electioneering  visit  to  The 
Falls.  It  was  early  spring  and  the  election  more  than 
two  years  away,  but  it  was  important  to  make  an  early 
start  in  the  canvass,  and  Colonel  Swell  was  taking  time 
by  the  forelock.  He  was  a  solid  man  of  fair  ability,  but 
like  many  village  great  men,  quite  spoiled  by  vanity.  He 
came  to  The  Falls  expecting  an  ovation  on  account  of  the 
aid  he  had  given  in  the  legislature  to  the  act  incorporating 
under  a  new  form  the  little  municipality,  and  placing  it  in 
the  category  of  cities.  He  regarded  this  visit  to  The  Falls 
as  a  very  important  step  in  his  canvass.  He  was  prepared 
for  a  speech,  in  case  of  a  reception  by  the  mayor  and  board 
of  councilmen,  or  an  address  of  a  more  popular  character 
for  a  public  meeting  of  the  citizens,  if  the  demonstration 
should  take  that  shape;  and  he  had  given  the  two  repre 
sentatives  of  the  city  timely  notice  of  his  intended  visit. 
The  gentlemen  who  then  represented  both  city  and  county 
in  the  Senate  took  counsel  with  the  representatives  of  the 
city  in  the  lower  house,  as  to  what  was  proper  to  be  done 
in  behalf  of  the  distinguished  visitor.  Ignorant  of  the 
high  expectations  of  Colonel  Swell,  they  concluded  that 
the  most  suitable  thing  would  be  to  take  him  to  Drake's 
theater,  where  he  would  see  assembled  all  the  beauty  and 

431 


422  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

fashion  of  the  town,  and  be  entertained  by  an  excellent 
dramatic  company.  Accordingly,  a  few  hours  after  his  ar 
rival,  Colonel  Swell,  under  the  escort  of  these  representa 
tives,  entered  the  playhouse  already  filled  from  pit  to  gal 
lery.  The  only  vacant  seats  were  four  reserved  for  them 
in  the  front  boxes,  the  most  conspicuous  part  of  the  house. 
Attended  by  the  senator  and  the  representatives  of  the  city, 
Colonel  Swell  entered,  clad  in  his  ample  blue  cloth  cloak 
faced  with  velvet,  wrapped  about  him  after  the  manner 
of  an  "old  Eoman,"  as  he  was  proud  of  being  called.  He 
was  always  playing  this  role  of  "old  Eoman" ;  not  any  par 
ticular  old  Eoman,  but  sometimes  one,  sometimes  another. 
Indeed,  he  was  often  an  "old  Greek,"  according  to  his  mood 
or  the  exigencies  of  politics. 

Colonel  Swell  glanced  at  the  great  multitude  in  the 
house,  and  concluded  at  once  that  it  had  been  assembled 
to  do  him  honor.  He  knew  that  if  there  were  a  playhouse 
in  Tickville,  and  he  should  enter  it  in  this  fashion,  the 
house  would  shake  with  applause,  kicking  with  boot  heels, 
and  yells  and  screeches.  What  manifestation,  he  wonders, 
will  be  made  by  this  gay,  finely  dressed  audience?  Will 
there  not  be  waving  of  fans,  and  handkerchiefs,  and  clap 
ping  of  tiny  hands  in  kid  gloves,  and  the  thud  of  canes 
upon  the  floor,  and,  mayhap,  from  the  pit  and  gallery, 
some  old-fashioned,  familiar  yelling  and  screeching?  As 
he  found  his  way  to  the  seat  assigned  him,  closely  attended 
by  the  city  representatives  supporting  him  by  his  elbows, 
he  forebore  to  look  up,  not  caring  to  meet  the  blaze  of  so 
many  eyes,  now  doubtless  fixed  upon  him,  but,  with  an 
air  of  old-Eoman-proud-humility.  cast  down  his  eyes  as 
he  slowly  passed  through  the  throng.  Being  seated,  and 
hearing  no  manifestation  of  applause  from  any  quarter,  and 
seeing  the  pit  beneath  apparently  unconscious  of  his  pres 
ence,  he  stole  a  glance  around  the  glittering  array  of  the 
boxes,  and  lo !  not  an  eye  was  upon  him ! 

He  did  not  enjoy  the  play,  but  lost  the  thread  of  the 
plot,  and  was  moody  and  unhappy  through  it  all,  and 
gloomily  meditated  upon  the  ingratitude  of  cities.  As  he 
stole  another  glance  at  the  array  of  female  loveliness  in 
the  boxes  his  grim  mood  relaxed,  and  his  thoughts  were 


An  Old  Roman  423 

tinged  with  sentiment.  He  was  now  Timon  of  Athens,  and 
romantically  fancied  himself  buried 

"Upon  the  beeched  verge  of  Salt  River, 
Whom,  once  a  day,  with  his  embossed  froth 
The  turbulent  surge  shall  cover." 

The  play  over,  he  stayed  for  the  farce,  in  which  Mr.  Aleck 
Drake  was  excessively  funny,  and  he  laughed  so  loudly 
that  a  great  many  people  stared  at  him,  and  he  was  some 
what  mollified,  and  quitted  the  playhouse  in  pretty  good 
spirits. 

But  next  morning  when  he  walked  down  the  streets  in 
his  best  array,  with  all  the  bravery  of  velvet-lined  cloak 
and  waterproof  beaver  hat,  nobody  seemed  to  know  him. 
The  sidewalks  along  the  corner  of  Main  and  Wall  streets 
were  so  lumbered  with  boxes  of  merchandise  that  he  could 
hardly  make  his  way  through  them.  At  the  crossings  the 
drays  came  near  running  over  him,  or  with  their  long  tails 
sweeping  his  legs  from  under  him ;  and  as  he  walked  in  his 
slow,  stately  way  along  the  pavement  the  throngs  of  clerks 
and  draymen  jostled  him,  and  were  nigh  knocking  him 
down.  "The  vile  money-changers !"  They  didn't  know  an 
old  Roman  when  they  saw  him !  He  was  getting  into  a 
rage  now,  untinged  with  any  romantic  sentiment.  He 
was  no  longer  Timon  going  to  be  entombed  by  the  salt 
flood,  but  Coriolanus  meditating  a  revolt  to  the  Volscians, 
and  making  the  ungrateful  city  feel  his  power.  First, 
however,  before  taking  this  final  step  he  will  go  to  the 
office  of  the  Journal.  If  overlooked  by  the  populace  and 
the  wretched  slaves  of  Mammon,  there  he  will  find  recog 
nition.  At  the  Journal  office  his  card  was  sent  upstairs,  but 
by  some  mischance  did  not  reach  the  editor.  After  waiting 
an  hour  without  getting  an  invitation  to  the  editorial  room, 
and  finding  not  only  no  notice  of  his  arrival  in  the  morn 
ing  paper,  but  a  paragraph  recommending  another  candi 
date  for  Congress,  he  is  Coriolanus  once  more,  and  strides 
away  full  of  wrath  toward  the  home  of  Aufidius.  He  is 
going  to  "make  Eome  howl !" 

The  requisites  for  success  in  politics  were  then  very  dif 
ferent  from  those  of  the  present  time.  It  was  necessary 


424  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

then  to  stand  upon  one's  dignity;  to  be  very  polite  in  a 
stately  way;  to  be  well  dressed,  and  clean  shaven,  and  to 
bear  all  the  insignia  of  a  gentleman;  and  not  to  do  any 
electioneering  in  person,  but  to  leave  that  to  friends  and 
agents.  Any  direct  personal  efforts,  indicative  of  self-seek 
ing,  would  have  been  fatal  to  a  man's  prospects.  Of  course 
there  was  still  room  for  that  fine  art  which  can  do  a  thing 
without  seeming  to  do  it,  but  the  coarse  demagogue  was 
not  then  a  power  in  the  land.  People  took  pride  in  their 
representatives.  l\To  man  aspiring  to  public  station  could 
curry  favor  with  them  by  putting  on  a  poor  appearance,  or 
by  dressing  like  a  slouch.  Above  all,  as  was  said  by  a  dis 
tinguished  and  eminently  successful  politician  of  that  day, 
the  people  liked  a  "clean  man."  The  modern  fashion  of 
beginning  a  political  career  by  going  to  grog  shops  and 
drinking  like  bacchanals,  in  a  canvass,  expecting  to  redeem 
themselves  after  the  election  by  clean  shirts  and  stovepipe 
hats,  was  happily  unknown.  Equally  unknown  were  those 
vulgar  artifices  by  which  men  now  bring  themselves  before 
the  public,  enlisting  the  press,  and  giving  douceurs  to  re 
porters  and  claquers,  and  getting  up  what  is  called  a 
"boom/' 

Colonel  Swell  was  mindful  of  all  these  requirements. 
Though  stung  by  the  cold  reception  he  met  in  the  town,  he 
did  not  act  hastily.  Taught  by  a  large  experience  that 
wariness  and  caution  are  necessary  in  treading  the  slippery 
way  to  political  preferment,  he  hastened  slowly.  Slowly 
he  rode  away  on  his  sturdy  roan,  a  genuine  "McKinney," 
that  had  borne  him  safely  through  many  a  hard  campaign, 
revolving  a  scheme  for  making  an  independent  race  for 
Congress.  Homeward  toward  Tickville  his  horse's  steps 
were  now  turned.  There  he  would  plan  his  campaign,  and 
make  a  thorough,  quiet  canvass  of  the  district,  under  the 
guise  of  business,  not  disclosing  his  purpose.  His  well- 
known  reputation  as  a  practicing  lawyer,  supplemented  by 
visits  to  the  public  offices  in  the  county  towns,  would  easily 
cover  his  real  purpose.  In  his  list  of  places  to  be  visited 
he  had  given  Lastlands  a  prominent  place.  He  had  long 
known  of  the  knot  of  free-traders  there,  among  whom  was 
Thornton,  conspicuous  as  a  proselyting  disciple,  who  had 


An  Old  Roman  425 

won  many  to  his  side  by  his  clear  exposition  of  the  im 
policy  and  the  injustice  of  the  tariff  and  internal  im 
provement  schemes  of  Mr.  Clay,  then  known  under  the 
captivating  title  of  "the  American  system."  He  had  heard 
much  of  the  "Yeoman's-  Club,"  which  had  been  organized 
in  that  neighborhood  and  was  now  a  recognized  power  in 
the  county,  and  he  resolved  to  pay  a  visit  there,  and  cau 
tiously  ascertain  how  the  "yeomen"  would  be  disposed 
toward  an  independent  candidate. 

To  most  of  the  leading  lawyers  of  the  State  it  was  well 
known  that  the  husband  of  Mrs.  Scudamore  had  a  large 
claim  for  lands  surveyed  by  him  in  partnership  with  an 
other,  and  fraudulently  patented  by  his  partner  in  his  own 
name  alone.  Many  lawyers  had  given  the  case  attention, 
with  a  view  to  a  large  contingent  fee.  Colonel  Swell  was 
one  of  these,  and  he  now  had  in  his  saddlebags  memoranda 
of  such  facts  as  he  had  ascertained  bearing  upon  this  case. 
Now,  having  eaten  of  the  insane  root,  and  being  possessed 
by  political  ambition,  it  had  occurred  to  him  to  make  a 
show  of  interest  in  the  widow's  claim,  and  present  her 
with  these  memoranda,  and  thereby  establish  an  interest 
for  himself  in  the  Lastlands  neighborhood.  But  of  this 
he  would  think  further. 

It  was  late  in  the  summer  when,  in  the  course  of  his 
tour  of  inspection  through  the  district,  Colonel  Swell 
reached  Lastlands.  He  found  Thornton  not  at  home.  Busi 
ness  often  called  him  now  to  The  Falls,  whither  he  had 
gone,  and  was  not  expected  home  before  the  evening  of 
the  following  day.  But  Colonel  Swell  was  received  by  Mrs. 
Thornton  with  such  cordiality  as  warmed  his  heart,  and 
was  a  balm  to  the  wounds  he  had  got  in  town.  He  stared 
with  surprise  at  the  elegance  as  well  as  the  substantial 
character  of  everything  about  Lastlands.  The  broad,  well- 
rolled  gravel  road,  the  wide,  shaven  lawn,  the  gorgeous 
flower  beds,  the  variety  and  number  of  beautiful  shrubs 
and  graceful  plants,  and  the  absolute  neatness  and  order 
everywhere  filled  him  with  admiration.  He  had  come 
through  the  pastures  along  the  Anser,  and  had  seen  the 
herd  of  fine  cattle  and  the  flock  of  high-bred  sheep,  and 
the  evidence  of  thrift  on  every  hand,  and  had  marveled  that 


426  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

a  man  whom  he  had  known  a  few  years  before  impover 
ished,  with  nothing  left  but  some  slaves,  and  these  the  sub 
ject  of  a  lawsuit — that  this  man  should  now  have  gathered 
about  him  all  this  wealth  of  "land  and  beeves"  !  Arid  when 
he  stood  in  the  house  at  Lastlands,  "a  baronial  hall,"  as 
the  old  Roman  emphatically  called  it,  adorned  with  paint 
ings  and  statuary,  and  beautiful  things  from  many  parts 
of  the  globe,  it  seemed  to  him  like  the  work  of  enchant 
ment.  He  thought  of  his  own  home  near  Tickville,  and  of 
his  farm  there,  with  its  briery  fields  and  broken-down 
fences,  and  dilapidated  buildings,  and  for  once  in  his  life 
there  came  over  him  a  sense  of  inferiority.  And  then  this 
high-bred  hostess,  so  gracious  and  so  hospitable!  He 
thought  that  there  might  be  possessions  in  the  world  better 
than  political  honors.  He  thought  that  the  possessor  of 
this  beautiful  place  must  be  a  very  happy  man,  and  he 
meditated  upon  the  possibilities  of  his  own  seat,  "Briar 
Hill." 

Mrs.  Thornton  expressed  her  regret  for  the  absence  of 
her  husband,  but  hoped  that  Colonel  Swell  would  await  his 
return.  Meantime,  Mr.  Russell,  and  Mr.  Joe  Sterrett  and 
his  wife,  then  at  Lastlands  on  a  visit,  would  help  to  make 
his  time  pass  agreeably.  They  had  walked  out  toward  the 
highroad,  and  if  Colonel  Swell  was  not  too  much  fatigued 
by  his  ride,  they  would  walk  out  to  meet  them.  "Fatigued  !" 
Not  he.  Accompanied  by  the  children,  who  had  just  been 
made  ready  for  the  walk,  they  strolled  away  toward  the 
new  highroad.  Jiist  as  they  reached  the  gate  that  opened 
into  the  new  avenue  they  saw  the  walking  party  returning, 
and  awaited  their  coming.  As  Sterrett' s  children  ran  for 
ward  in  a  race  to  the  gate,  Colonel  Swell,  with  a  gallant 
air,  said,  "Flowers  and  sweets  are  everywhere,"  and  in  his 
ignorance  of  flowers  smelled  at  the  tall  hollyhocks  grouped 
like  grenadiers  on  each  side  of  the  gateway. 

He  was  warmly  greeted  by  Russell  and  Sterrett,  and  was 
presented  to  Mrs.  Sterrett,  and  then  the  whole  party  re 
traced  their  steps  toward  the  house.  The  gentlemen  finally 
gravitated  together,  engaging  in  talk,  while  the  ladies  and 
children  went  off  on  a  by-path  to  look  at  a  plantation  of 
flowers.  Russell  saw  at  once  the  salient  points  of  the  old 


An  Old  Roman  427 

Eoman's  character,  and  led  the  conversation  into  politics, 
saying  just  enough  to  encourage  him  in  the  line  of  policy 
he  had  taken  up,  and  adroitly  ministering  to  that  leading 
trait,  personal  vanity.  The  effect  of  this  and  of  the  beau 
tiful  surroundings,  and  the  warm  hospitality  of  Lastlands, 
was  manifested  by  the  old  Eoman  in  a  look  of  supreme 
satisfaction,  and  a  certain  elevation  of  manner,  intended 
to  bring  up  his  personal  bearing  to  the  standard  of  his 
environment.  He  contrasted  the  noise  and  dust  of  the 
town  with  the  quiet  and  beauty  of  Lastlands,  and  the  inso 
lence  of  the  "sordid  votaries  of  Mammon"  with  the  elegant 
and  cordial  hospitality  which  now  rested  like  a  healing 
plaster  upon  his  wounded  pride.  As  Colonel  Swell  in  his 
simplicity  revealed  his  self-esteem,  and  gradually  unfolded 
to  that  keen  observer  the  purpose  of  his  visit  to  Lastlands, 
Eussell  often  tweaked  his  nose.  Such  a  character  was 
meat  and  drink  to  him,  as  was  a  clown  to  Dogberry.  "He 
would  be  flouting;  he  could  not  hold."  He  was  soon  so 
far  advanced  in  the  confidence  of  the  old  Roman  as  to 
make  an  appointment  for  a  conference,  after  tea,  with  him 
self  and  Mr.  Sterrett.  Accordingly,  finding  him  inclined 
to  linger  at  the  table  with  the  ladies,  Russell  and  Sterrett, 
asking  to  be  excused,  quitted  the  table,  saying  they  would 
await  Colonel  Swell  in  the  library,  leaving  him  in  a  fine 
flow  of  talk  with  the  hostess  and  Mrs.  Scudamore. 

Finding  Mrs.  Scudamore  graceful  and  intelligent, — "a 
woman  of  soft  speech,  and  with  a  lady's  mien," — Colonel 
Swell  was  surprised,  having  somehow  associated  with  her 
misfortune  a  necessary  shortcoming  in  other  respects. 
Finding,  also,  that  she  held  a  high  place  in  the  Lastlands 
household,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  put  at  once  into  her 
hands  the  papers  in  his  possession.  Accordingly,  in  the 
presence  of  Mrs.  Thornton,  with  a  very  formal  explanation 
of  their  significance,  he  gave  them  to  her,  saying  that  the 
information  contained  in  them  had  come  into  his  posses 
sion  in  the  course  of  his  practice,  and  advising  her  to  place 
them  in  the  hands  of  some  discreet  attorney,  who  might  be 
able  to  supply  missing  links  in  the  chain  of  evidence,  and 
recover  the  title  to  land  of  which  he  believed  her  husband 
had  been  fraudulently  divested,  concluding  with  his  bow 


428  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

of  old-Roman-proud-humility.  The  good  widow  received 
these  papers  with  manifest  emotion,  and  thanked  him 
warmly.  And  then  Colonel  Swell,  saying  that  the  gentle 
men  were  expecting  him  to  discuss  some  political  matters, 
in  which  he  was  afraid  the  ladies  would  take  no  interest, 
excused  himself,  and  a  servant  showed  him  into  the  library, 
where  Eussell  and  Sterrett  were  awaiting  his  coming. 

Colonel  Swell  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  sound  an 
intelligent  town  man,  like  Russell,  on  his  prospects  in  the 
city,  but  was  distrustful  of  himself,  doubting  his  power  to 
talk  much  about  The  Falls  and  keep  down  his  wrath.  But 
Russell,  who  had  seen  him  that  night  when  he  appeared  in 
Drake's  theater,  and  again  on  the  street,  and  had  accurately 
diagnosed  his  case,  quickly  relieved  him,  by  coming  out 
without  reserve,  and  denouncing  the  want  of  independent 
spirit  in  the  people  of  the  town,  and  their  exclusive  devo 
tion  to  money-making;  charging  them  with  sinking  all  the 
nobler  impulses  of  humanity  in  their  sordid  hankering 
after  wealth ;  permitting  the  entire  control  of  public  inter 
ests  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  a  set  of  professional  politi 
cians,  who  turned  everything  to  their  own  private  account. 

Joe  Sterrett,  who  was  an  original  native  American  (that 
early  Americanism  born  in  the  camp  of  Washington,  and 
flourishing  long  before  the  day  of  Know-nothings),  and 
who  rode  his  hobby  in  all  weather,  and  in  all  company,  sec 
onded  this;  alleging,  as  a  radical  objection  to  growing 
towns,  the  influx  of  the  Irish,  who  flocked  wherever  digging 
was  to  be  done,  and  had  swarmed  about  the  canal ;  and  of 
the  Dutch,  who  gathered  wherever  there  was  a  population 
sufficient  to  enable  them  to  live  upon  what  other  people 
wasted,  or  threw  away,  or  failed  to  stand  guard  over.  Rus 
sell  put  in  a  good  word  for  the  Dutch,  insisting  that  they 
were  a  frugal,  thrifty,  industrious  people,  and  already  a 
valuable  addition  to  the  industrial  force  of  the  country, 
and  a  strong  element  in  its  progress. 

"Progress  I"  exclaimed  Sterrett,  "I  hate  progress !  I 
don't  want  to  see  this  land  filled  with  people  vomited  forth 
from  their  overcloyed  countries,  indiscriminately,  Parthians 
and  Medes,  and  Elamites,  and  those  that  dwell  by  Mesopo 
tamia — filled  as  sausages  are  filled  with  a  patent  staffer, 


An  Old  Koman  429 

without  regard  to  the  quality  of  the  stuffing.  If  this  tide 
of  immigration  goes  on  for  sixty  years,  there  will  be  noth 
ing  American  left.  These  plodding  foreigners,  schooled  to 
patient  industry  and  self-denial,  will  possess  the  land. 
They  may  be  cheap  laborers  now,  but  they  will  be  masters 
at  last.  They  are  the  blessed  meek  that  shall  inherit  the 
earth !  When  we  invite  them  here,  we  are  selling  for  a 
mess  of  pottage  the  birthright  of  our  children.  They  will 
be  eaten  out  of  house  and  home,  as  the  sleek  native  blue 
rats  have  been  eaten  out  by  the  hungry  Hanoverians.  To 
find  a  new  home,  they  will  have  to  take  the  wings  of  the 
morning  and  fly  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  land.  I  am 
against  immigration,  and  against  everything  that  may  in 
vite  or  facilitate  it;  against  turnpikes  and  all  devices  for 
rapid  transit,  and  in  favor  of  dirt  roads  and  travel  on 
horseback.  I  am  a  native  American  dirt-road  Democrat !" 
Sterrett  had  a  certain  rude,  fervid  eloquence,  and  was 
always  at  his  best  on  this  topic,  warming  often  into  a  bold 
figurative  style,  reminding  one  sometimes  of  Danton,  the 
great  Jacobin  orator.  A  modern  historian,  as  the  reader 
will  remember,  speaking  of  what  he  called  Danton's  "all- 
too-gigantic"  rhetorical  figures,  cites  from  his  speech  made 
soon  after  the  execution  of  King  Louis,  the  following  fine 
specimen :  "The  coalized  kings  of  Europe  are  marching  in 
arms  against  us.  We  throw  at  their  feet,  as  gage  of  bat 
tle,  the  head  of  a  king !"  The  following  specimen  of  Mr. 
Sterrett's  talk  on  this  occasion  will  show  his  power  of 
amplification,  and  the  figure  with  which  it  concludes,  tak 
ing  into  account  the  inferior  dignity  of  the  topic,  will  not 
unworthily  compare  even  with  that  of  Danton:  "These 
Dutch  immigrants  are  in  every  sense  old  soldiers.  They 
carry  double-barrel  guns,  and  big  leather  haversacks,  now 
turned  into  game-bags,  and  with  these  they  make  daily 
forays  into  the  country.  They  put  into  the  field  little 
bench-legged  dogs  trained  to  start  hares,  which  the  old 
soldiers,  sitting  on  the  fences,  shoot  as  they  run.  They  kill 
everything,  furred,  feathered,  and  haired.  They  cut  up  all 
the  mint  along  the  branches,  and  all  the  water-cresses. 
They  strip  all  the  blackberries,  pokeberries,  and  elderber 
ries.  They  peel  the  bark  from  the  wild  cherry  and  slippery 


430  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

elm.  They  gather  all  the  hickory  nuts,  and  all  the  walnuts, 
and  all  the  pawpaws,  and  wild-grapes  and  wild-cherries — 
in  one  word,  gentlemen,  THEY  GUT  THE  WILDERNESS  !" 

This  passage  was  not  lost  on  a  practiced  public  speaker 
like  Colonel  Swell,  himself  at  heart  an  "American,"  and 
he  thought  how  with  that  he  could  move  a  crowd,  and  fol 
lowing  it  with  hearty  denunciation,  make  them  yell  and 
screech.  But  he  continued  noncommittal  on  the  question, 
in  spite  of  Russell's  repeated  efforts  to  draw  from  him  some 
expression  favorable  to  the  foreigners.  He  did  not  like 
to  agree  with  Sterrett  lest  he  should  lose  Russell,  and  he 
could  not  think  of  going  with  Russell  lest  he  should  lose 
"Joe."  Russell  enjoyed  his  perplexity,  and  the  more  stren 
uously  Sterrett  attacked  the  foreigners,  the  more  stoutly 
Russell  defended  them.  He  insisted,  moreover,  that  now 
that  these  people  constituted  so  large  a  part  of  the  voting 
population  of  the  town,  it  became  necessary  to  look  to  their 
influence  as  a  factor  in  politics.  That,  increasing,  and 
acting  together  as  they  did,  they  would  soon  hold  the  bal 
ance  of  power,  and  that  if  he  were  a  politician  he  would  set 
about  establishing  an  interest  among  them.  "The  fact  is/' 
continued  Russell,  "the  Journal  and  a  few  leaders  and  sup 
porters  of  that  paper  assume  to  control  the  politics  of  both 
town  and  country,  especially  within  this  Congressional  dis 
trict,  and  I  should  be  glad  to  see  this  foreign  element 
brought  into  play,  as  a  counterpoise  to  their  undue  in 
fluence." 

"Some  counterpoise,"  said  the  old  Roman,  very  seriously, 
"is  unquestionably  necessary.  The  self-assumption  of  the 
editor  of  the  Journal  takes  the  lead  of  everything  I  have 
ever  s<jen.  I  was,  as  is  well  known,  put  forward  by  my 
friends  in  different  parts  of  the  district,  as  a  candidate  for 
a  seat  in  the  Congress  of  the  United  States ;  and  I  believe 
I  am  recognized  as  a  man  that  has  done  the  State  some 
service.  I  was  thought  to  have  a  special  claim  on  the  peo 
ple  of  the  new  city,  which  was  brought  into  corporate  ex 
istence  by  my  instrumentality.  I  advocated  in  an  exhaus 
tive  speech  of  nine  hours  the  bill  conferring  municipal 
functions  upon  that  community,  and  I  received  the  hearty 
thanks  of  their  immediate  representatives  in  the  legisla- 


An  Old  Roman  431 

ture.  Yet,  afterward,  when  I  made  a  visit  to  the  new  city, 
1  was  hardly  more  noticed  than  if  I  had  been  some  mule 
driver  come  to  town  for  halters.  Not  even  the  usual  com 
plimentary  notice  of  my  arrival  was  made  in  the  paper. 
Nobody  recognized  me  as  I  walked  through  the  streets,  and 
when  I  called  at  the  office  of  the  Journal  and  sent  up  my 
card,  no  notice  was  taken  of  it,  but  I  was  left  waiting  in 
that  dirty  office,  with  the  clerk,  for  two  hours ;  after  which 
I  went  away  in  disgust/' 

"Is-it-possible !"  said  Russell,  with  dramatic  emphasis. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  old  Roman,  warming;  "that  is  the 
return  that  I  get  for  my  services.  And,  moreover,  I  saw 
by  the  papers  that  a  sort  of  primary  meeting  had  been  held 
there,  by  which  I  was  completely  overslaughed,  my  claims 
ignored,  and  a  little  skyrockety,  oratorical  whipper-snap 
per  recommended,  who  is  no  more  fit  to  represent  the  dis 
trict  in  Congress  than  he  is  to  preach  the  Gospel." 

"That,"  said  Russell,  "is  the  work  of  the  Journal  clique. 
For  one,  I  am  tired  of  the  rule  of  that  set.  Prentice  is 
getting  too  big  for  his  breeches.  He  thinks  himself  in 
vincible  in  newspaper  controversy,  and  people  seem  to  stand 
in  awe  of  him,  and  hardly  dare  say  their  souls  are  their 
own.  It  is  a  humiliating  thing,  but  it  is  true.  I  wish  I 
had  a  faculty  for  writing  and  the  power  of  sarcasm  of 
some  people !  I'd  give  him  what  he  has  long  wanted,  a 
thorough  dressing  in  the  public  prints  that  should  last  him 
all  his  life." 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  old  Roman,  slowly  elevating  his 
head  with  a  vibratory  motion — as  a  rattlesnake  elevates  his 
crest,  when  he  has  made  his  coil — "gentlemen,  I  am  cred 
ited  with  having  some  power  to  express  myself  in  writing, 
and  I  say,  though  perhaps  it  would  come  better  from  an 
other,  that  if  I  have  any  special  merit  as  a  rhetorician,  it 
is  my  faculty  for  uttering  the  most  withering  sarcasms.  I 
make  no  threats.  But  I  say  in  a  general  way,  that  no  man 
shall  ill-treat  me  with  impunity — nemo  me  impudente 
lacussit."  Here  Joe  Sterrett,  struck  by  the  idea  of  an  old 
Roman  speaking  such  Latin  as  this,  was  seized  with  an 
irresistible  inclination  to  giggle,  and  under  some  idle  pre 
tense  quitted  the  room. 


432  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Glad  to  have  the  field  to  himself,  now  drawing  his  chair 
close  in  front  of  the  0.  R.,  Russell  said:  "Colonel,  you 
are  the  man  to  take  this  editpr  down.  I  remember  that 
contest  you  had  with  Badger  for  the  Senate.  You  did  use 
him  up  most  effectually !  I  watched  your  canvass  with 
great  interest.  He  was  considered  an  able  man,  but  you 
had  the  whole  State  laughing  at  him.  The  Journal  clique 
were  heartily  for  you  then,  because  your  victory  would 
enure  to  their  benefit.  The  paper  published  interesting 
letters  from  the  country,  giving  the  details  of  your  meet 
ing." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Colonel  Swell,  with  a  beaming  face; 
"that  was  a  great — a  gre-a-t  canvass !  I  shall  never  forget 
it.  Many  people  thought  that  I  had  found  my  match  in 
Badger.  He  was  one  of  those  literary  fellows.  For  years 
he  had  been  fitting  himself  for  politics ;  studying  for  it,  as 
a  man  studies  for  the  ministry  or  any  other  profession. 
He  wanted  to  reform  all  sorts  of  abuses  before  anybody 
had  complained  of  them.  He  arraigned  the  magistracy  and 
even  the  judiciary ;  charging  these  with  nepotism,  and  mag 
istrates  with  being  self-perpetuating,  and  with  trading  in 
office — farming  the  sheriffalty.  I  knew  the  fate  of  all  pio 
neers  in  reform  too  well  to  take  any  hand  in  that  game. 
I  knew  that  these  abuses  had  more  friends  than  he  could 
muster  against  them;  and  so  I  did  not  answer  him  on 
these  points,  giving  him  rope — until  the  magistrates,  and 
the  sheriffs,  and  the  clerks,  and  the  constables  and  their 
deputies  fell  upon  him  like  a  nest  of  hornets,  and  then  I 
joined  in.  It  was  at  Tickville  that  I  first  opened  on  him, 
before  a  great  crowd.  It  was  there  that  I  gave  him  that 
nickname,  'The  Wildhog  Democrat!'  You  ought  to  have 
heard  the  boys  yell,  when  I  came  out  with  that!  There 
is  nothing  like  a  good  nickname  to  put  a  fellow  down. 
That  was  such  a  hit  that  afterward  I  had  only  to  mention 
him  by  that  name  to  set  a  crowd  to  laughing  and  yelling 
and  screeching.  He  left  the  field  before  the  canvass  was 
over,  and  has  never  been  in  politics  since." 

"Now,  Colonel,"  said  Russell,  "why  can't  you  do  the 
same  thing  for  this  fellow  Prentice?  Like  all  bullies,  he 
wants  only  the  right  man  to  get  hold  of  him,  and  after 


An  Old  Roman  433 

that  everybody  will  kick  him.  Let  me  get  you  a  toddy. 
I'm  fagged  out  by  my  ride  to-day,  and  I  am  sure  that  you 
must  be,  and  a  little  of  Bob's  old  whisky  won't  hurt  either 
of  us." 

Then  Russell  went  into  the  dining-room  and  brought  out 
a  decanter  and  tumblers  and  spoons  and  sugar,  and  mak 
ing  a  great  stirring  and  jingling,  said  to  the  old  Roman, 
who  was  now  reclining  in  his  chair  listening  to  these  sounds 
with  a  look  of  intense  satisfaction,  "How  do  you  like  it — 
sweet?" 

"Sweet,"  said  the  0.  R. 

"Just  my  way, — nutmeg?" 

"Nutmeg,"  said  the  0.  R.,  placidly. 

"Just  my  figure,"  said  the  artful  Russell.  Then  not 
hastily,  but  with  more  stirring  and  jingling,  to  whet  the 
old  Roman  appetite,  he  mixed  two  toddies,  one  "craftily 
qualified,"  but  the  other  what  Mclntyre  called  "a  real  stiff- 
facer."  This  latter  he  gave  to  Colonel  Swell,  and  they  nod 
ded  to  each  other,  and  took  a  few  good  swallows.  Then 
Russell,  after  listening  to  further  accounts  of  the  famous 
Badger  canvass,  and  on  his  part  urging  Colonel  Swell,  as 
a  thing  certain  to  redound  to  his  own  glory,  to  make  an 
onslaught  on  Prentice,  and  squelch  this  doughty  editor,  and 
then  hobnobbing  until  the  old  Roman's  eyes  began  to  snap, 
he  suddenly  opened  a  table  drawer,  and  taking  out  paper 
and  ink,  and  placing  them  before  him,  said,  "Now,  Colonel, 
here's  writing  material — at  him  with  half  a  column  or  so, 
in  a  letter  to  the  Gazette.  It  is  a  sort  of  neutral  paper. 
They  will  gladly  print  anything  you  may  offer  them." 
Then,  as  the  0.  R.  took  pen  in  hand,  Russell  excused 
himself  for  a  few  moments,  under  pretense  of  having  to 
order  his  horse  for  an  early  start  in  the  morning,  and  leav 
ing  Colonel  Swell  to  his  toddy  and  the  exercise  of  his 
powers  of  sarcasm  upon  the  editor  of  the  Journal,  went  out. 

After  a  while  Russell  walked  softly,  on  tiptoe,  to  a  win 
dow  of  the  library,  and  looked  in.  He  saw  the  0.  R.  writing 
furiously,  an  intellectual  fire  blazing  in  his  eyes,  and  an 
occasional  smile  wreathing  his  face.  Then  he  tiptoed 
away,  tweaking  his  nose.  "  'He  is  about  it,'  "  he  said,  quot 
ing  Lady  Macbeth,  perhaps  unconsciously,  yet  having  in 


434  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

his  mind's  eye  a  view  of  the  horrors  to  which  the  old 
Roman  would  be  subjected  when  he  should  fall  into  the 
clutches  of  that  terrible  editor  of  the  Journal.  He  saw 
again  and  again  paragraphs  headed,  "Colonel  Swell  of 
Tickville";  "Colonel  Jonah  Swell  of  Tickville";  "Colonel 
Swell  again" ;  "Colonel  Swell  once  more" ;  then  "The  late 
Colonel  Swell" — and  so  on  to  the  crack  of  doom.  After 
an  hour  spent  in  going  in  and  out  of  Mrs.  Thornton's 
small  parlor,  where  Sterrett  and  the  ladies  were  seated,  and 
occasionally  peeping  into  the  library,  he  went  back  there, 
and  found  the  old  Roman  just  putting  the  finishing  stroke 
to  his  letter  to  the  Gazette.  He  was  jubilant  over  it,  and 
read  the  manuscript  to  Russell,  giggling  over  some  of  his 
pet  sarcasm,  so  as  to  be  almost  inarticulate.  It  was  duly 
signed,  in  propria  persona,  and  folded  neatly,  and  commit 
ted  to  the  care  of  Russell,  "For  the  Editor  of  the  Gazette" 
Then,  after  further  jingling  of  spoons  and  glasses,  they  re 
tired  for  the  night. 


CHAPTEE  XLIV 

COLONEL  SWELL  RETRACTS 

"In  all  the  trade  of  war  no  feat 
Is  worthier  than  a  brave  retreat." 

NEXT  day,  after  the  interview  in  the  library,  Kussell 
and  Colonel,  Swell  left  Lastlands.  Russell  went  away  after 
a  very  early  breakfast,  while  Colonel  Swell  rose  late  and 
lingered  until  near  mid-day.  Old  Tom  had  appeared  at 
the  proper  hour  and  shaved  him,  and  had  polished  his 
boots  with  "Day  &  Martin"  so  that  they  were  hardly  rec 
ognizable,  and  with  the  cordial  invitation  of  the  hostess 
sounding  in  his  ears,  "to  come  again  to  Lastlands,"  he 
rode  away  on  his  McKinney.  Still,  he  did  not  have  that 
alacrity  of  spirit  he  was  wont  to  have  when  nothing  crossed 
him,  and  which  seemed  warranted  by  present  circum 
stances.  He  had  begun  to  have  some  misgivings  about  his 
letter  to  the  Gazette.  His  remembrance  of  its  contents  was 
imperfect  and  confused,  and  he  was  now  haunted  by  an 
apprehension  of  mistakes  and  shortcomings  in  the  composi 
tion.  It  was  not  long  until  he  bitterly  repented  having 
written  it,  and  thus  precipitated  a  war  with  the  formidable 
editor  of  the  Journal.  Veritable  old  Roman  in  point  of 
personal  courage,  and  ready  as  he  was,  when  it  was  his  cue 
to  fight,  to  do  battle  with  the  fiend  incarnate,  he  had  a 
mortal  dread  of  ridicule.  Besides,  his  present  policy  was 
not  war,  but  only  a  peaceful  and  quiet  inspection  and  hus 
banding  of  the  strength  he  might  muster  for  a  revolt 
against  the  constituted  authorities  of  the  party,  as  an  in 
dependent  candidate  for  Congress.  Now  his  design  would 
be  exposed  and  perhaps  frustrated.  "Confound  that 
smooth-tongued  Russell !"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "and 
doubly  confound  that  fatal  toddy!"  remembering  how, 

435 


436  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

after  having  drunk  that,  his  anger  against  the  editor  had 
flamed  up  afresh;  how  he  had  flung  behind  him  all  con 
sideration  of  prudence  and  caution,  and  felt  his  soul  in 
arms  and  eager  for  the  fray ! 

"Inspiring,  bold  John  Barleycorn, 
What  dangers  thou  canst  make  us  scorn! 
Wi'  tippenny  we  fear  nae  evil, 
Wi'  usquebae  we'll  face  the  devil." 

And  now  suppose  this  truculent  editor  of  the  Journal 
shall  bespatter  him,  the  old  Roman,  with  filth !  turn 
against  him  the  slings  and  arrows  of  his  outrageous  wit! 
Tortured  by  these  apprehensions,  he  resolved  to  make  his 
way  to  a  distant  tavern  and  stage-stand  on  the  highroad, 
where  the  mail  coaches  passed  daily,  and  there  lie  in  wait, 
and  see  an  early  copy  of  the  Gazette  and  read  his  letter  in 
print,  and  also  see  the  Journal  and  know  what  Prentice 
should  say  in  reply,  and  so  at  once  look  the  worst  in  the 
face. 

On  the  following  day  at  noon  he  reached  this  tavern 
and  stage-stand,  where  he  found  the  Gazette  containing  his 
letter.  It  was  introduced  by  an  editorial  paragraph 
eulogizing  Colonel  Swell,  and  commending  his  "able  and 
caustic  pen/'  Something  was  said  also  about  his  touching 
the  editor  of  the  Journal  with  the  spear  of  Ithuriel,  and 
revealing  him  to  the  world  in  his  natural,  hideous  shape 
and  monstrous  proportions.  The  old  Roman's  heart  sits 
lighter  in  his  breast  on  reading  these  delightful  para 
graphs.  His  letter  he  reads  with  increased  delight.  He 
does  not  know  that  Russell  and  the  editor  of  the  Gazette 
had  spent  an  hour  or  more  in  pointing  and  polishing  his 
shafts.  He  is  surprised  and  rejoiced  by  its  felicities  of 
speech.  The  vanity  of  authorship  takes  possession  of  him. 
Some  local  politicians  coming  in  and  complimenting  him 
upon  it,  he  invites  them  to  join  in  a  mint-sling,  and  once 
more  inspired  by  bold  John  Barleycorn,  he  becomes  jubi 
lant,  and  says,  with  a  triumphant  air,  that  he  has  many 
more  "shots  in  the  locker."  In  this  agreeable  state  of 
mind  he  sees  the  day  pass  away,  and  early  in  the  night 
retires  to  his  chamber.  There,  pausing  before  the  short 


Colonel  Swell  Retracts  437 

tallow  candle  he  was  about  to  extinguish,  he  stood  for  some 
moments  in  rapt  meditation.  Then,  striking  a  dramatic 
attitude,  and  extending  his  right  arm  with  the  fist 
clenched,  he  exclaimed,  "  'Lay  on,  MacDuff,  and  damned  be 
he  who  first  cries,  Hold — enough !' >:  Then  he  put  out  the 
light;  and  wrapping  the  drapery  of  his  couch  about  him, 
laid  him  down,  and  in  the  course  of  the  night,  after  the 
manner  of  old  Komans,  when  great  issues  are  pending,  he 
had  a  dream.  He  dreamed  that  he  was  once  more  a  school 
boy  in  the  old  field  schoolhouse  in  Virginia — the  old  log 
schoolhouse  in  which  he  had  learned  his  a,  b,  c's,  and 
where  he  had  first  heard  of  old  Romans — a  little  bare 
legged,  barefooted  country  boy,  with  a  sore  toe  tied  up  in 
a  rag.  He  was  up  for  punishment,  with  two  other  little 
boys,  standing  before  the  old  master.  That  worthy,  instead 
of  a  hat,  now  wore  upon  his  head  a  huge  wide-mouthed  ink- 
horn  filled  with  the  coal-black  liquid.  In  his  left  hand 
he  grasped  a  bundle  of  newly  sharpened  quill  pens,  spread 
abroad  like  the  arrows  in  the  claw  of  the  American  eagle. 
Dipping  one  of  the  pens  into  the  inkhorn,  he  gave  it  a 
quick  flirt,  sending  the  ink  into  the  face  of  the  boy  in 
hand,  making  him  writhe  and  roar  as  if  touched  by  liquid 
fire.  Sometimes  it  alighted  on  his  hair,  scorching  it  to  a 
crisp.  In  this  way  he  went  through  with  two  of  the  boys, 
the  room  resounding  with  their  cries,  and  filled  with  an 
odor  like  burned  lambs'  skins.  Then  he  was  about  to  take 
Jonah  in  hand,  but  seeing  how  frightened  he  looked,  and 
considering  how  he  had  suffered  by  anticipation,  in  wit 
nessing  the  punishment  of  the  other  boys,  he  hesitated  a 
moment,  and  then  said,  "Jonah,  if  you  will  ask  pardon, 
and  promise  not  to  do  so  any  more,  I  will  let  you  go  free 
this  time."  And  Jonah  asked  pardon,  and  promised,  and 
went  free. 

In  his  delight  at  being  delivered  from  punishment  the 
old  Roman  awoke.  It  was  yet  dark,  the  darkness  that  goes 
before  the  dawn,  and  already  he  heard  the  landlord,  a  big- 
boned,  fox-hunting  old  Virginian  from  the  mountain  re 
gion,  with  a  great  Roman  nose,  and  dewlapped  like  a 
Thessalian  bull,  walking  the  porch ;  hawking  and  spitting 
loud,  enough  to  be  Ijeard  a  mile.  He  had  not  yet  taken  fcfo 


438  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

mint-sling  to  clear  his  throat,  and  his  voice  was  wheezy 
as  he  called  his  negro  factotum,  "You,  Ja-c-k!"  and  pre 
pared  to  set  his  house  in  order  for  the  day. 

Now  the  turkey  cocks  are  heard  coming  down  with  heavy 
rustling  from  the  trees,  and  gobbling  vociferously.  Soon 
they  begin  to  strut  with  all  their  feathers  spread,  in  gor 
geous  rivalry,  sailing  like  full-rigged  ships,  yardarm  and 
yardarm,  before  their  dames,  and  thundering  with  their 
wings.  A  little  later  the  ducks,  with  loud  "day-daying," 
announce  the  perfect  day. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  these  peaceful  and  fa 
miliar  rural  sounds  would  have  brought  solace  and  repose 
to  the  mind  of  the  old  Roman,  but  he  was  now  lying  un 
easily.  The  feather-bed,  which  the  night  before  had  seemed 
to  him,  tired  by  his  long  ride,  so  inviting — plump,  as  if 
stuffed  to  the  full  capacity  of  the  ticking — had  proved  but 
an  unsubstantial  pageant  of  down,  erected  by  the  skilful 
housemaid,  and  long  before  morning  its  airy  substance 
had  fled  from  beneath  his  too  solid  flesh,  and  left  him  lying 
on  the  griddle  of  rigid  hempen  cords  that  formed  its  base. 
Moreover,  that  dream  now  forced  itself  upon  his  mind, 
and  there  was  no  augur  to  interpret  it!  Once  more  he 
was  filled  with  uneasiness,  and  thought,  with  great  con 
cern,  of  the  Journal  which  would  come  by  the  stage  at 
breakfast  time.  Not  willing  to  be  present  when  the  throng 
of  stage  passengers  should  come  to  the  tavern  to  breakfast, 
when  the  whole  house  might  be  buzzing  with  the  reply 
of  Prentice  to  his  letter,  he  went  down  a  short  time  be 
fore  the  breakfast  hour,  and  telling  the  landlord  that  he 
felt  a  little  unwell,  and  had  a  bad  taste  in  his  mouth,  and 
would  take  a  walk  to  get  up  his  appetite,  and  declining 
the  landlord's  panacea,  a  mint-sling,  he  strolled  away  into 
a  beech  grove  across  the  road.  He  did  not  hear  the  mut 
tered  prediction  of  the  landlord,  that  "he  would  have  a 
worse  taste  in  his  mouth  before  Prentice  was  done  with 
him."  Soon  after,  he  heard  the  winding  of  the  driver's 
horn,  and  saw  the  stage,  filled  with  passengers,  dash  up 
in  a  gallop  to  the  tavern.  When  with  fresh  horses  it  had 
dashed  away  again,  in  the  same  animated  style,  he  went 
back,  and  having  secured  the  Journal  and  put  it  in  his 


Colonel  Swell  Retracts  439 

pocket  and  got  his  breakfast,  he  walked  back  to  the  grove 
to  read. 

Again  and  again,  with  nervous  haste,  he  ran  his  eye 
over  the  paper  without  seeing  his  name  or  any  notice  of 
his  letter.  He  found  two  notable  paragraphs  in  the  paper : 
one  upon  the  editor  of  the  Natchez  Free  Trader,  giving  a 
summary  of  the  editor's  life  and  character  (Mr.  Prentice 
could  "get  up"  a  biography  of  any  adversary  at  the  shortest 
notice) ;  the  other  a  characteristic  assault  upon  the  editor 
of  the  Advertiser,  his  regular,  chronic,  resident  enemy. 
Both  these  paragraphs  were  written  in  the  style  always 
assumed  by  Mr.  Prentice  in  these  personal  assaults,  when, 
throwing  away  the  weapons  of  civilized  warfare,  with  toma 
hawk  and  scalping  knife  he  engaged  his  enemy  at  close 
quarters.  It  was  a  very  coarse  style.  It  was  worse  than 
coarse.  But  if  it  made  the  sensitive  reader  shudder,  it 
moved  him  also  to  "endless  laughter."  It  was  a  terrible 
weapon.  It  will  not  do  to  quote  at  this  day. 

The  paragraph  upon  the  editor  of  the  Advertiser  was 
grounded  upon  some  heroics  expressed  in  his  paper  about 
"dying  in  the  last  ditch/'  It  warned  him  to  beware  of 
ditches,  first  and  last,  and  gave  a  circumstantial  account 
of  his  narrow  escape  from  death  a  few  nights  before,  hav 
ing  fallen,  not  into  any  metaphorical  last  ditch,  but  into  a 
real  pit  of  the  most  offensive  character,  which  came  nigh 
being  his  last  ditch,  and  from  which  he  was  rescued  by  the 
timely  arrival  of  the  night-watchman,  who,  not  having  the 
nerve  to  lay  hands  on  him,  fished  him  out  with  a  boathook. 
Then  followed  a  description  of  the  watchman  steering  him 
home  at  the  end  of  the  boathook,  keeping  all  the  way  care 
fully  to  windward  of  him — 

"Wi'  mair  o*  horrible  and  awfu', 
Which  e'en  to  name  wad  be  unlawfu'." 

As  the  old  Eoman  read  these  paragraphs  his  face  length 
ened,  his  under  jaw  relaxed,  his  eyes  expanded,  the  blood 
left  his  face,  his  scalp  began  to  creep — he  was  like  a  man 
looking  on  at  the  flaying  of  Marsyas,  knowing  that  his  own 
turn  would  come  next.  And  now  Jus  eyeji  fell  upon  the 


440  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

following  short,  inconspicuous  paragraph,  which  in  his 
eagerness  he  had  all  along  overlooked : 

"The  letter  of  Col.  Jonah  Swell  on  political  management 
in  this  Congressional  district,  with  some  reflections  upon 
our  conduct  and  character  in  that  connection,  has  been 
read  by  us  with  great  surprise.  Believing  this  letter  to  have 
been  written  under  a  grave  misapprehension,  we  give  Col 
onel  Swell  forty-eight  hours  within  which  to  retract  all  he 
has  said  of  us.  If  within  that  time  it  shall  not  have  been 
retracted — every  word  and  syllable  of  it — we  shall  flirt 
into  his  face  a  few  penfuls  of  the  murkiest  ink  from  our 
trusty  horn/' 

In  the  light  of  the  two  paragraphs  upon  the  editors,  Col 
onel  Swell  read  the  meaning  of  the  threat  with  which  this 
editorial  reply  concludes.  It  meant  that  he  would  be  pil 
loried  in  the  Journal  for  an  indefinite  time,  and  on  that 
bad  eminence,  in  view  of  the  whole  State,  nay,  of  the  whole 
world,  for  the  Journal  was  now  quoted  everywhere,  pelted 
with  rotten  eggs,  and  dead  cats,  and  innumerable  foul  mis 
siles,  made  a  laughing  stock — inf  andum !  inf  andum  !  Flesh 
and  blood  could  not  stand  it !  He  would  retract — and  he 
did  retract,  sending  a  letter  by  the  stage  that  passed  on  its 
way  to  The  Falls  that  day,  and  following  it  himself  next 
day,  when  he  visited  the  editor  in  his  office,  and  after 
mutual  explanations  Colonel  Swell  was  once  more  in  har 
mony  with  his  party,  and  no  longer  an  independent  candi 
date  for  Congress. 


CHAPTEE  XLV 

THE  RACES 

"Let  me  not  live 

After  my  frame  lacks  oil,  to  be  the  snuff 
Of  younger  spirits,  whose  apprehensive  senses 
All  but  new  things  disdain." 

ABOUT  this  time  the  little  town  at  the  falls  had  begun 
to  assume  city  airs,  the  fathers,  the  seven  trustees,  having 
been  superseded  by  an  act  of  the  legislature  raising  it  to 
the  dignity  of  a  city  with  a  charter  providing  for  its  gov 
ernment  by  a  mayor  and  a  board  of  councilmen.  The 
inhabitants  of  a  city  must  put  on  city  manners,  and  adopt 
city  customs,  and  even  a  city  manner  of  speech,  but  espe 
cially  must  dress  in  city  fashion.  Accordingly,  there  were 
many  innovations  upon  the  old  manners.  The  fashion  of 
short  clothes  had  been  long  generally  discarded.  The  old 
gentlemen  had  stoutly  protested  against  the  new  trousers, 
but  at  last  succumbed,  only  a  few  distinguished  men  re 
fusing  to  adopt  this  fashion;  many,  especially  lawyers  and 
magistrates,  still  wearing  queues.  Especially  noticeable 
was  the  change  in  the  manners  of  the  rising  generation, 
who  now  manifested  the  utmost  intrepidity  in  dress,  and 
a  falling  away  in  politeness.  The  old-fashioned  high-flown 
speech,  and  the  demonstrative  courtesy  observed  in  the 
intercourse  among  gentlemen,  and  which,  on  the  appear 
ance  of  a  lady,  made  every  hat  fly  from  the  head,  was  now 
fast  disappearing.  Nay,  there  were  not  wanting  among  the 
young  men  some  that  openly  derided  these  old  manners, 
irreverently  describing  them  as  "too  much  on  the  jaybird 
order." 

But  what  marked  more  distinctly  than  anything  else  the 
great  change  impending  was  the  advent  of  the  trotting 

441 


442  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

horse.  Like  all  the  new  things,  these  came  first  from  the 
East,  from  Philadelphia.  As  with  all  the  instrumentalities 
of  sport,  these  horses  were  first  commended  to  public  con 
sideration  on  the  ground  of  utility.  This  plea  for  sports 
is  of  very  great  antiquity.  We  know  as  a  historical  fact 
that  as  early  as  the  eighth  century  a  dispensation  of  the 
forestry  law  was  granted  to  the  Monastery  of  St.  Denis,  al 
lowing  them  to  hunt,  on  a  representation  to  Charlemagne 
that  the  flesh  of  hunted  animals  was  good  for  sick  monks, 
and  that  their  skins  would  serve  to  bind  the  books  in  the 
library.  Eacing  has  been,  time  out  of  mind,  recommended 
on  the  ground  that  it  leads  to  improvement  in  the  breed 
of  horses,  and  fox-hunting  on  the  ground  that  it  develops 
hard  riders  suitable  for  cavalry  service  in  case  of  war.  And 
now  the  trotting  horses  were  recommended,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  monks  of  St.  Denis,  on  hygienic  grounds,  as  an  im 
portant  agent  in  the  cure  of  dyspepsia  or  liver  trouble ;  and, 
though  hitherto  clean  out  of  the  category  of  horses  for  the 
saddle,  they  came  somewhat  into  use  as  hackneys.  Dyspep 
tics  and  gaunt  men  with  sallow  complexions  were  often  to 
be  seen  trotting  along  the  road,  with  solemn  faces,  rising 
and  falling  in  their  stirrups,  jolting  their  livers  into  action. 
Bui  this  exercise,  requiring  more  energy  than  any  man 
with  dyspepsia  or  a  tucked  liver  is  apt  to  possess,  soon  went 
out  of  fashion,  and  the  horse  as  a  trotter  lapsed  into  the 
hands  of  the  few  that  had  been  inoculated  with  the  trotting 
mania  in  the  East.  These  were  for  the  most  part  bachelor 
merchants,  who  had  caught  the  fever  from  Philadelphia 
drummers,  a  part  of  whose  business  equipment  was  then  a 
tilbury  and  a  trotting  horse.  Besides  these,  there  were 
lottery  agents  from  Providence,  Ehode  Island,  and  insur 
ance  agents  from  Hartford,  Connecticut,  to  the  manner 
born,  who  now  brought  out  trained  animals  for  their  own 
use,  and  Stackpole  had  a  pair  of  grays  driven  all  the  way 
from  Boston,  good  trotters.  Then,  a  skilful  trainer  of 
trotters  having  connected  himself  with  a  leading  horse- 
dealer  of  the  town,  the  trotting  horse  became  one  of  the 
recognized  sporting  elements  in  the  community.  The 
patrons  of  this  sport  now  put  up  some  purses  to  be  trotted 
for  in  the  week  following  the  regular  running  races,  and 


The  Baces  443 

there  were  already  in  the  stables  at  the  course  a  number 
of  trotters  in  training  for  these  purses. 

Great  was  the  disgust  of  the  old  racing  gentlemen  and 
their  trainers  at  the  appearance  of  these  trotters.  Looking 
them  over  they  walked  away  contemptuously,  denouncing 
them  as  "cold-blooded  scrubs,"  and  expressing  amazement 
that  men  could  be  found  to  take  pleasure  in  their  per 
formances.  Mr.  Joe  Sterrett,  still  a  patron  of  the  turf, 
though  his  stable  had  declined  in  its  fortunes  since  the 
"letting  down"  of  the  great  Ormus,  was  eloquent  and  ve 
hement  in  his  denunciation  of  the  trotting  horse.  He  looked 
upon  his  coming  as  ominous  of  the  decay  of  Kentucky, 
fatal  as  the  Greek  horse  taken  into  their  city  by  the  foolish 
Trojans.  "  'Timeo  Danaos'  he  would  exclaim,  fet  dona 
ferentes.'  When  Kentuckians  shall  give  up  their  blooded 
horses  and  take  to  riding  in  buggies  behind  little  ewe- 
necked  Narragansett  ponies,  their  age  of  chivalry  will  have 
departed.  The  Kentuckian  of  the  future  will  be  no. more 
like  the  Kentuckian  of  to-day,  bestriding  his  thoroughbred, 
than  a  modern  Italian,  with  his  organ  and  monkey,  is  like 
a  Eoman  knight  of  the  days  of  the  Bepublie." 

But  then  Mr.  Sterrett  was  full  of  Kentucky  prejudices, 
and  opposed  to  all  "new  things."  Moreover,  against  these 
strange  horses  he  had  a  private  grief.  Going  out  to  his 
racing  stable  one  morning,  to  inspect  the  horses  and  to 
confer  with  his  trainer,  "old  Beard,"  he  found  him  in  a 
very  ill  humor.  To  Sterrett's  question,  "Well,  Mr.  Beard, 
how  are  the  colts  doing?"  he  replied,  "Bad  enough,  bad 
enough  !  They  are  scared  every  day  ha.lf  out  of  their  skins 
by  these  all-fired  huckars.  They  come  by  here  yelling  like 
wild  Injuns,  and  scare  the  colts,  and  make  'em  rear  and 
pitch,  and  bump  their  heads  against  the  loft  floor.  I  ex 
pect  every  one  of  them  will  have  poll-evil.  The  Eclipse 
colt  has  got  it  now." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  huckars?"  said  Sterrett. 

"Why,  them  all-fired  trotting  fellows.  Here  comes  one 
of  'em  now ;  just  listen  to  him !  I  must  go  in  and  stand 
by  the  colts  and  try  to  keep  'em  from  butting  their  brains 
put." 

there  was  heard,  along  the  track,  a  wild,  unearthly 


444  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

screaming,  and  Sterrett  saw  coming  a  man  driving  a  horse 
in  a  sulky,  yelling  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "Huck-a-r-e, 
huck-a-r-e !"  followed  in  a  lower  tone  by  what  seemed  a  re 
proachful  interrogatory,  "Whadder  ye  bea-oute  ?"  while  the 
little  horse  spun  along,  lifting  his  legs  with  marvelous 
quickness  in  a  trot.  This  was  one  of  old  Beard's  huckars. 

On  his  way  returning  to  the  town,  Sterrett  met  Russell 
and  Mr.  McKay,  a  bachelor  merchant,  one  of  the  patrons 
of  the  trotters,  accompanied  by  a  little  gentleman  from 
Rhode  Island  who  had  a  "string"  of  trotting  horses  in 
training  at  the  course.  They  invited  Sterrett  to  go  back 
and  see  the  trotters,  expressing  at  the  same  time  a  desire 
that  he  should  show  the  stranger  his  racers.  This  last  re 
quest  made  it  out  of  the  question  to  decline,  and  he  went 
back  with  them  to  inspect  the  trotters. 

As  they  passed  through  the  gate  into  the  inclosure  of  the 
trotting  stable,  a  fierce  Newfoundland  dog,  fastened  by  a 
tether  long  enough  to  allow  him  a  wide  range,  dashed  at 
Russell  and  Sterrett,  who  were  in  advance,  and  came  nigh 
snapping  them.  A  man  sitting  in  front  of  one  of  the 
stable  doors,  seeing  this,  did  not  rate  the  dog,  but  only 
called  a  boy  to  shorten  his  tether.  This  man  was  very 
peculiar  in  appearance,  tall  and  slender,  with  long,  straight, 
light  hair,  tallow-colored  eyes,  long,  tortuous  nose,  lantern 
jaws,  a  cavernous  mouth,  and  a  general  hungriness  of  look. 
He  was  whittling  a  stick  of  wood  when  the  visitors  ap 
peared,  slicing  off  long  shavings.  But  as  his  employer  came 
into  view  and  he  seemed  to  comprehend  the  purport  of 
the  visit  of  the  strangers,  the  shavings  grew  smaller  and 
thinner,  and  at  last  he  subsided  into  minute  whittling, 
and  seemed  to  be  carving  a  figure  on  the  end  of  the  stick. 
The  proprietor  said  to  him,  as  the  strangers  advanced, 
<rLittlefield,  tell  Zeke  to  c'm  out  and  show  these  folks 
the  hossis."  Then  a  neat,  rosy  little  man,  in  his  shirt 
sleeves,  wearing  a  jockey  cap,  came  forth,  and,  one  after 
another,  led  out  the  trotters.  Sterrett  looked  at  them 
with  ill-concealed  disgust.  They  were  small  and  coarsely 
bred,  and  all  had  their  tails  cut  short  and  cocked  up,  as 
we  see  in  the  pictures  of  the  English  cob.  To  the  eyes  of 
any  lover  of  thoroughbreds  they  presented  a  sorry  appear- 


The  Races  445 

ance.  Russell,  growing  tired  of  the  exhibition,  and  struck 
with  the  physiognomy  of  the  man  whittling  at  the  stable 
door,  approached  him  and  engaged  him  in  talk.  Seeing  a 
horse  in  the  stable  before  which  he  sat,  a  roan  horse  with 
black  points  and  having  a  long  tail,  the  only  one  of  all 
this  "string"  of  trotters  thus  furnished,  and  observing  that 
he  was  highly  groomed,  and  that  a  boy  was  then  kneeling 
at  his  side  rubbing  his  legs,  Russell  asked,  "What  horse  is 
this,  and  what  are  his  qualities?" 

The  man  again  began  to  cut  long  shavings  from  his 
stick,  slicing  them  clean  to  the  end,  in  a  lavish  way,  but 
after  a  time  again  settled  down  into  minute  whittling  and 
answered,  "Wall,  that  hoss  is  nothin'  perticular." 

"You  seem  to  take  especially  good  care  of  him,  and 
he  seems  very  highly  groomed." 

"Wall,  yis,  we  try  to  take  middlin'  good  care  of  all  on 
'em,  but  this  hoss  is  nothin'  alarmin'.  Wall,  he's  a  hoss — 
a  middlin'  good  hoss  o'  the  kind — a  hoss  that  'ud  do  to  go 
for  cider,  or  suthin'  1'k  that,  abeaout  villages.  That's 
abeaout  the  kind  of  a  hoss  he  is — nothin'  alarmin' — not's 
good's  he  looks." 

Russell  would  gladly  have  made  a  further  study  of  this 
man,  but  Sterrett  now  invited  McKay  and  the  stranger  to 
go  over  to  see  the  thoroughbreds,  and  he  went  with  them 
to  Sterrett's  stables.  There  old  Beard  led  out  the  racers 
for  inspection.  The  Eastern  gentleman  was  filled  with  ad 
miration  of  the  beautiful  colts,  and  looked  them  over  care 
fully  from  every  point  of  view— from  the  front,  from  the 
rear,  and  in  profile.  He  felt  their  silken  coats,  and  praised 
them  extravagantly,  much  to  the  gratification  of  the  old 
trainer.  Then  Sterrett  had  led  out  the  great  Ormus,  the 
victor  on  so  many  fields,  but  now  disabled  and  withdrawn 
from  the  turf.  "Jerusalem  !  Jehosaphat !  Lands  sakes  !" 
exclaimed  the  little  man.  "That  is  a  hoss  !" 

The  hero  seemed  to  know  that  he  was  on  exhibition,  and 
held  his  head  high  in  air,  and  glanced  over  the  field  of 
his  former  triumphs,  his  great  eyes  blazing  with  their  an 
cient  fires,  and  neighed  and  pranced  and  reared,  and  gave 
occasion  to  the  trainer  to  lead  him  around  in  a  circle  and 
to  show  his  form  and  action  in  their  best  light.  Then  as 


446  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

lie  was  led  back  the  little  man,  putting  his  hand  upon  his 
fine  silken  coat,  exclaimed,  "What  a  cut !  I  dun't  know  as 
I  ever  felt  a  cut  1'k  that,  on  a  hoss."  And  then,  stepping 
back  and  placing  his  thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his  vest, 
and  surveying  the  horse  in  profile,  he  exclaimed,  "How  he 
would  style  up  in  single  hairness  I" 

It  was  a  sight  to  behold  old  Beard's  face  at  this  sugges 
tion — Ormus,  "the  great  Ormus,"  in  single  harness!  or 
in  any  harness  but  the  snaffle  bridle  and  the  racing  saddle ! 
Not  Rob  Eoy,  when  the  good  bailie,  Mchol  Jarvie,  proposed 
to  make  his  sons  weavers,  and  Rob  swore  that  untranslat 
able  Gaelic  oath,  felt  greater  wrath  than  now  burned  in 
the  heart  of  the  old  trainer.  But  he  said  only,  "You  must 
excuse  me  now,  gentlemen.  I  must  put  the  horses  away." 

Then  he  led  back  Ormus  into  his  stable,  and  fastened 
the  door  on  the  inside.  Sterrett,  seeing  the  wrath  in  his 
face,  obvious  to  all,  said  something  about  the  inviolable 
routine  of  a  racing  stable,  and  the  absolute  rule  of  the 
trainer,  and  soon  after  the  visitors  went  away.  Then  Ster 
rett  heard  the  old  man  growling  in  the  stable:  "Put  him 
in  harness!  If  he  didn't  kick  the  brains  out  of  any  all- 
fired  man  that  would  come  about  him  with  harness,  I'd 
never  feed  him  another  quart  of  oats !  I  don't  know  what 
this  world  is  coming  to !  It  ain't  your  fault,  my  beauties. 
The  horses  are  all  right;  it's  the  men  that's  falling  away 
and  going  to  the  devil  with  their  new-fangled  notions." 

The  trotting  races  excited  very  little  interest  at  The 
Falls,  and  had  only  a  slim  attendance.  They  will  not 
be  further  noticed  in  this  chronicle.  But  the  great  races 
for  thoroughbreds,  now  at  hand,  beginning  on  the  Tuesday 
of  the  following  week,  excited  intense  interest.  Already, 
during  the  last  days  of  the  week  preceding  those  races, 
great  numbers  of  strangers  had  come  into  town.  But  on 
Monday  afternoon  they  fairly  poured  in.  Rattling  over  the 
stony  street  came  stage  after  stage,  all  four-in-hands,  filled 
with  people,  oiitside  and  inside.  Load  after  load  of  dusty 
men,  their  very  eyebrows  filled  with  the  white  dust  of  the 
turnpike  road,  got  off  at  Allen's  tavern,  and  hurried  into 
the  house  to  secure  quarters.  Crowds  beset  the  shop  of 
Jerry  Wade,  the  fashionable  negro  barber  opposite,  making 


The  Races  447 

themselves  presentable  for  the  supper  table.  In  the  throng 
of  people  who  stood  in  front  of  the  tavern  or  sat  upon  the 
settees  there,  was  our  young  friend,  John  D.,  and  by  his  side 
Henry  Allen,  a  son  of  the  proprietor,  a  knowing  youth, 
who  was  pointing  out  the  notabilities  and  giving  short 
summaries  of  their  quality.  "There,"  said  he,  "is  Major 
Buford,"  pointing  to  a  large  gentleman  who  drove  up  in 
a  dearborn,  "and  there  is  Captain  Viley;  and  hanged  if 
there  ain't  Uncle  Ned  Blackburn!  He  can  out-talk  'em 
all !  And  there's  Paddy  Burns  from  Frankfort ;  he  can  out- 
brag  'em  all."  And  so  he  went  on  as  the  different  nota 
bilities  came  into  view.  Then,  as  a  stage  drove  up  filled 
with  men,  he  cried  out,  "By  George !  Digby,  here's  a  stage- 
load  of  gamblers;  there's  —  and  —  and  —  and  — . 
And  there's  old  Algeyer,  the  Dutchman;  they  say  he  can 
beat  'em  ail." 

At  this  moment  the  stage  door  was  opened,  and  a  large 
man,  with  small,  round,  gray  eyes  and  a  great  red  nose,  got 
out,  his  corpulence  making  his  exit  a  slow  proceeding.  He 
was  received  with  great  cordiality  by  a  well-known  town 
sport  who  stood  there,  no  other  than  Quid's  client,  John 
Lewis,  of  the  gambling-room,  to  whom  the  reader  has  been 
already  introduced.  "Yon,"  said  the  big  man,  "did  you 
got  my  room?" 

"Yes,  it  is  all  arranged,"  said  Lewis. 

"Everything?" 

"Everything,"  said  Lewis,  with  emphasis. 

"Den  let  us  stant  a  vile.  I  vant  to  stretch  mine  laigs, 
unt  look  to  see  who  comes."  And  they  turned  their  faces 
to  the  street  and  observed  the  new  arrivals. 

As  the  stages  rolled  in,  the  big  man  said,  "Py  George ! 
ain't  dey  coomin'  in !  Everypody  I  p'lieve  I  ever  knowt  is 
coomin'  in.  Vy,  vat  a  dstream  of  beeples !  Tint,  Yon,  dere 
ought  to  be  a  goot  run  of  suckers  fon  der  looks." 

John  Lewis  winked  and  nodded  assent.  Then,  as  a  stage 
dashed  up,  the  big  man  pointed  to  a  thin,  black-eyed  man 
sitting  by  the  window,  dressed  in  a  clerical  suit  of  black, 
with  white  cravat,  and  said  eagerly,  "Yon,  ain't  dot  'Illary 
dere?" 

"Yes,  that's  Hillary." 


448  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

The  big  man  shook  with  laughter,  and  then  said,  "I 
never  shall  forgit  'Illary.  I  knowt  em  yust  as  soon  as  I 
spied  em.  Der  fierst  time  I  seed  'Illary  vas  in  Harrispurg. 
Bennsylvanny.  I  vas  up  dere  vone  vinter,  lookin'  about, 
yust  to  see  vat  I  could  see,  unt  I  valks  in  der  tavern  vone 
night,  unt  I  vinds  a  party  by  a  roundt  table  playin'  loo, 
unt  'Illary  vas  dere.  It  vas  mighty  cold,  but  dere  vas  a 
goot  fire  roarin'  in  der  grate,  unt  I  takes  a  seat  to  get 
varm,  unt  to  look  on  a  vile  at  der  game,  to  see  who's  who, 
unt  vat's  vat.  After  a  vile  der  loo  goes  off,  unt  I  says, 
'Chentlemen,  has  you  any  objection  dot  I  shall  take  a  handt 
at  der  game?'  Unt  everypody  says,  'Oh,  no,  no;  coom  in/ 
unt  pegin  to  make  room,  unt  I  takes  a  seat  next  py  'Illary. 
Pretty  soon  I  push  'Illary  on  der  laig,  unt  I  say,  'It  looks 
like  a  fellow  could  vin  a  goot  deal  here,  oof  he's  lukey.' 
Unt  'Illary  push  me  pack  unt  say,  'He  kin  dat.'  Unt  ve 
skinst  der  party."  And  then  his  fat  sides  shook  with 
laughter,  and  he  said,  "Yon,  coom,  led  us  go  in  unt  git 
some  schnapps."  Then  they  made  their  way  through  the 
crowd,  the  big  man  shouldering  along  behind  Lewis,  scan 
ning  the  faces  of  the  throng  with  eager  eyes,  bearing  heav 
ily  on  his  cane,  and  touching  the  ground  gingerly  with 
his  feet. 

John  D.  now  espied  Mr.  Ould  sitting  on  one  of  the  set 
tees,  looking  at  the  incoming  crowd,  and  went  up  to  him, 
and  Ould  made  room  for  him  by  his  side. 

"Well,  John  D.,"  he  said,  "what  are  you  doing  here? 
Just  looking  at  this  multitude  of  people,  I  suppose." 

"Yes,  sir;  that's  all." 

"What  a  strange  pleasure  men  take  in  looking  at  a  crowd 
of  their  fellow-men !  People  will  flock  to  any  place  where 
they  are  assured  of  seeing  a  multitude,  irrespective  of  any 
other  attraction.  It  gives  me  no  satisfaction,  generally, 
but  I  am  interested  in  observing  the  gambling  fraternity 
attracted  here  in  full  force  by  these  races.  I  once  had  a 
pretty  extensive  acquaintance  with  them.  They  were  among 
the  first  to  recognize  my  ability  as  a  lawyer,  and  a  great 
number  of  them  have  been  my  clients.  Their  ups  and 
downs  are  fearful  to  contemplate!  Since  I  have  been  sit 
ting  here,  I  have  seen  men  that  I  had  supposed  to  be  dead 


The  Eaces  449 

for  years.  But  a  great  sporting  event  like  this  stirs  'Kas- 
caldom'  to  its  depths,  and  brings  to  the  surface  things  we 
thought  buraed  forever.  There  is  a  seedy  fellow  now,  with 
one  eye  out,  two  fingers  of  his  right  hand  off,  the  half  of 
one  eyebrow  gone,  and  a  bald  place  on  the  back  of  his  head 
like  the  mark  of  a  scalping  knife.  I  remember  him  a 
spruce,  dandified  gamester,  dressed  in  the  height  of  the 
fashion,  with  a  diamond  pin  on  his  breast,  and  no  end  of 
rings  and  bangles,  and — look  at  him  now !  He  is  like  one 
of  the  old  rats  we  see  nibbling  offal  in  the  gutter,  with  one 
eye  out,  its  tail  half  gone,  and  the  hair  off  in  spots,  from 
scalding  by  hot  water.  These  races  have  stirred  him  up 
from  some  lower  deep,  and  he  is  here  to  try  his  fortune 
once  more  in  the  upper  air,  like  the  gallant  Widdrington, 
still  fighting  on  his  stumps. 

"What  a  gulf  there  is  between  this  poor  devil  and  the 
airy  dandy  that  arrived  a  while  ago  with  his  light  carriage 
and  span  of  dapple  grays !  Yet  a  freak  of  fortune  may 
restore  that  maimed  wretch  to  his  former  station,  and  next 
week  his  head  may  be  bewigged,  his  hands  gloved,  and  he 
so  changed  that  we  shall  not  know  him.  But  this  is  not 
likely  to  happen.  There  are  plenty  of  instances  in  the 
chronicles  of  the  fraternity  in  which  a  single  small  coin, 
staked  and  played  boldly,  has  led  to  fortune;  but  in  these 
cases  the  players  were  young  men.  Such  things  are  achieved 
only  by  the  rash,  blind  courage  of  youth.  Old  gamblers, 
like  old  sporting  dogs,  blink  and  don't  go  in  on  the  game 
like  young  ones.  The  old  age  of  the  gambler  is  indeed,  for 
the  most  part,  pitiable.  Sooner  or  later  he  is  overslaughed 
by  the  more  active  youngsters,  who  consider  him  fair  game, 
and  overcome  him  with  'new  things/  which  are  every  day 
developed  in  the  profession.  Meantime,  age  is  sapping  his 
strength,  his  skill  diminishes  day  by  day;  the  more  he 
plays  the  worse  he  plays,  and  he  becomes  at  last  like 
Lucket's  shoemaker,  who  is  said  to  have  made  shoes  till  he 
couldn't  'wax  an  end.'  Then,  without  money  and  without 
friends,  he  can  only,  like  a  hurt  beast,  hide  himself  and  die. 
I  have  known  among  them  some  strictly  honorable  men. 
But,  as  a  whole,  they  are  a  bad  set.  Never  meddle  with 


450  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

them,  John  D.,  but  always  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  their  invita 
tions  to  'go  in  and  win/ 

"There  is  another  public  character,  conspicuous  here, 
whose  career  is  not  unlike  that  of  the  gambler — the  profes 
sional  politician.  As  among  the  gamblers,  there  is  the  ex 
ceptional  cool  head  that  quits  when  the  game  is  at  its  best, 
but  as  a  rule  his  old  age  is  as  miserable  as  that  of  the 
gambler.  After  a  life  of  plotting  and  intrigue,  and"  corrupt 
bargaining,  and  subornation,  all  of  which  he  denominates 
WORK,  with  devilish  irony  like  that  with  which  the  gambler 
calls  his  desperate  ventures  PLAY  ;  bankrupt  in  political  in 
fluence,  deserted  by  what  he  calls  his  friends, — his  asso 
ciates  in  a  selfish  and  sordid  pursuit, — his  temper  soured, 
run  down  in  mind,  body  and  estate,  he  'lags  superfluous  on 
the  stage.'  Yet  still  he  pushes  about  to  public  gatherings 
everywhere,  to  keep  himself  before  the  people.  At  conven 
tions  he  hangs  on  the  wings  of  platforms  or  crowds  into 
the  center,  scowling  upon  the  younger  aspirants,  whom  he 
sees  pushing  him  from  the  stool ;  throwing  to  the  audience 
leers  of  invitation  to  call  him  up  for  a  speech;  a  single 
voice  bringing  him  to  his  feet  with  'Thanks,  gentle  friends, 
for  this  spontaneous  call/  etc.,  mumbling,  with  cracked 
voice,  his  ancient  platitudes;  vamping  up  his  mouldy  rec 
ord,  which  he  considers  a  part  of  the  national  history,  but 
which  everybody  else  has  forgotten.  How  many  of  these, 
with  a  reputation  that  should  content  a  reasonable  ambi 
tion,  impelled  by  a  resistless  and  insatiable  craving  for 
notoriety,  wear  out  the  good  name  earned  in  the  past,  and 
go  down  to  posterity  mere  drivelers !  They  should  take 
the  poet's  counsel : 

"  'Walk  sober  off  before  a  sprightlier  age 
Comes  tittering  on  and  shoves  you  from  the  stage/ 

or  they  should  take  a  lesson  from  Quin,  the  actor,  who, 
when  entreated,  in  his  old  age,  to  play  Falstaff,  said,  'No ! 
I  am  old,  I  have  lost  my  teeth,  and  I'm  blanked  if  I  will 
whistle  Falstaff  for  any  man !' >: 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

QUARTER  RACES 
"Sharp  '&  the  word." 

IT  is  hardly  worth  while  to  give  any  account  of  the  great 
running  races,  which  in  that  day  differed  little,  except  in 
their  less  showy  accessories,  from  the  races  of  the  present 
time;  and  of  these  the  reader  may  have  more  than  enough 
in  the  daily  newspapers.  But  he  may  find  interest  in  an 
other  class  of  races,  now  out  of  date,  known  as  the  "county 
races/'  and  also  called  "quarter  races,"  and  by  the  lovers 
of  the  thoroughbreds  opprobriously  called  "scrub"  races, 
and  the  horses  engaged  in  them  "scrub"  horses.  There  were 
no  stated  distances  for  these  races,  this  being  a  matter  for 
agreement  between  the  various  parties  after  they  came  to 
gether  on  the  course ;  but  they  were  usually  short  races,  at 
distances  less  than  a  mile.  They  were  in  all  respects  upon 
the  most  liberal  and  popular  footing.  No  charge  was  made 
for  the  entry  of  the  horses,  nor  for  admission  to  the  track 
or  the  stands,  the  gates  being  flung  wide  open  for  the 
free  entrance  of  all.  The  people  in  attendance  differed 
widely  from  those  that  frequented  the  running  races,  being 
for  the  most  part  country  people  of  the  middle  class, 
dressed  in  homespun,  butternut,  or  blue-jeans.  Yet  among 
all  classes  there  were  some  who  took  delight  in  these  races. 
Even  among  the  lovers  of  the  thoroughbred  there  were 
some  that  regularly  patronized  them.  The  horses  were  in 
marked  contrast  with  the  thoroughbreds.  They  seemed  to 
be  the  common  working  stock  of  the  farm.  Instead  of  the 
careful  grooming  shown  by  the  thoroughbreds,  they  had 
often  an  appearance  of  studied  neglect;  with  mud  on  their 
ankles,  and  hayseed  or  even  burrs  in  their  manes  and  tails. 
Sometimes  a  horse  that  had  become  famous  was  disguised 
by  having  a  white  ankle  or  other  conspicuous  mark  con- 

451 


452  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

cealed  by  a  dye.  And  often  one  of  these  was  paraded  as 
a  pulling  horse  (for  all  sorts  of  contests  were  engaged  in 
at  these  races),  all  with  intent  to  deceive.  Sharp  was  the 
word  here. 

The  attendance  this  season  was  very  large.  A  great  many 
strangers  were  on  the  ground  with  horses,  some  clamorous 
ly  offering  matches,  while  others  maintained  a  quiet  reti 
cence,  biding  their  time.  Most  of  these  racing  people  were 
Kentuckians  or  Indianians,  but  there  were  representatives 
also  from  Tennessee  and  even  more  remote  quarters,  for 
these  scrub  racers  are  enterprising  men  and  make  wide 
circuits  with  their  favorite  horses. 

At  noon  on  the  first  day  only  a  few  races  at  different 
short  distances  had  been  run,  exciting  much  merriment, 
but  no  great  interest.  Meantime,  the  knowing  ones  were 
industriously  threading  the  crowd  inspecting  the  horses, 
which  were  all  openly  exhibited,  looking  for  points  for 
bets.  Russell  and  Stackpole  were  there  sitting  on  a  lower 
seat  in  the  large  stand,  where  they  could  see  and  hear  all 
that  went  on,  without  being  jostled  by  the  crowd,  enjoying 
the  humorous  incidents  peculiar  to  these  meetings.  On 
their  left  hand  in  the  quarter  stretch  stood  two  men,  one 
of  whom,  a  short,  stout  man,  held  a  heavy-set  bay  horse 
wearing  a  blind  bridle.  At  regular  intervals  this  man 
called  out,  "I'll  pull  any  horse  on  the  ground  for  two 
hundred  dollars";  or,  "If  any  man's  got  a  horse  he  wants 
to  pull,  here's  his  match."  He  had  repeated  these  cries 
many  times  when  there  rode  into  the  throng  a  man  mount 
ed  on  a  very  large,  white-faced  sorrel  horse.  Russell  was 
at  once  attracted  by  this  horse,  and,  as  he  came  near,  also 
by  the  rider.  Somewhere  he  had  known  both  horse  and 
rider,  but  could  not  at  once  recall  the  circumstances  of 
this  acquaintance.  Hearing  the  proclamation  made  for  a 
pulling  match,  the  newcomer  rode  near  the  man  making  it, 
and  after  a  close  scrutiny  of  the  horse  said,  "How  much 
do  you  want  to  pull  for  ?" 

"Two  hundred  dollars,"  was  the  reply. 

"It's  a  go,"  said  the  man  of  the  big  sorrel;  "I'll  pull 
him  for  two  hundred  dollars." 

The  man  of  the  bay  horse  made  no  rejoinder,  but  turned 


Quarter  Races  453 

away,  seeming  not  to  have  heard  the  acceptance  of  hie 
wager  on  a  pulling  match,  and  held  a  whispered  talk  with 
his  companion.  Then  the  man  of  the  sorrel  in  a  loud 
voice  repeated  his  offer.  This  seemed  to  disconcert  the 
man  of  the  bay  horse,  who  fidgeted  about  uneasily,  and  at 
last,  making  a  cautionary  signal,  whispered  something  in 
the  ear  of  the  newcomer.  "Oh  I"  replied  the  man  of  the 
sorrel  aloud,  "you  want  to  run  him,  do  you?"  And  then, 
after  another  keen  look  over  the  bay  horse,  he  said,  "How 
much  do  you  want  to  run  him  for  and  what  distance  ?" 

"Any  distance  from  three  to  six  hundred  yards,  for  two 
hundred  dollars." 

"Well,  then  I'll  run  Bally  against  him." 

"Bally?     Who's  Bally?" 

"This  is  him  right  here  under  me  now." 

"What  weight  will  you  carry  ?"  said  the  man  of  the  bay, 
looking  all  alive. 

"My  weight  against  yours." 

"You'll  run  that  sorrel  horse  you're  now  a-ridin'  ag'in 
this  bay,  your  weight  ag'in  mine,  for  two  hundred  dollars 
and  put  up  the  money  right  now  ?" 

"I'll  run  this  sorrel  horse  I'm  now  a-ridin'  ag'inst  that 
bay,  for  two  hundred  dollars,  my  weight  ag'inst  yours,  six 
hundred  yards,  and  put  up  the  money  right  now."  And 
as  he  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  he  added,  "I  will  in  the 
cool." 

Then  the  man  of  the  bay  called  out  with  some  eagerness 
to  a  handsome  man  who  rode  by,  "Mr.  Shipp,"  and  then 
in  a  low  tone  inquired  of  his  antagonist,  "What  mought 
your  name  be?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  that  my  name  is  any  matter,  but 
the  two  first  letters  of  my  name  is  Garrett  Holmes."  Then 
the  man  of  the  bay  introduced  Mr.  Holmes  to  Mr.  Shipp 
and  Mr.  Shipp  to  Mr.  Holmes,  and  stated  the  terms  of  the 
race,  and  requested  Mr.  Shipp  to  hold  the  stakes,  and  they 
were  placed  in  his  hands;  Mr.  Holmes  saying,  "I  don't 
know  Mr.  Shipp,  but  his  face  is  enough  for  me";  adding, 
as  Mr.  Shipp  made  a  memorandum  of  the  match,  "Put  two 
r's  and  two  t's  in  Garrett,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Shipp,  and  an 
I  in  Holmes";  and  the  match  was  concluded, 


454  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

And  now  all  was  bustle  on  the  part  of  the  man  of  the 
bay  horse.  News  of  the  match  was  spread  from  mouth  to 
mouth,  and  soon  crowds  of  men  were  gathered  about  the 
horses,  examining  their  points.  Much  the  greater  number 
were  about  the  bay,  many  of  these  seeming  bent  on  a 
private  conference  with  his  owner.  They  were  partisans 
who  had  come  on  purpose  to  back  the  horse  at  these  races, 
but  who  from  policy  had  hitherto  kept  in  the  background. 
Now  that  the  match  was  made  and  the  news  spread  abroad, 
they  gathered  about  the  bay  horse  and  his  owner,  for  a 
hasty  conference,  and  then  scattered  themselves  abroad  in 
the  throng,  to  place  bets  on  their  favorite.  This  was  not 
very  easily  done,  as  somehow  the  reputation  of  the  bay 
horse  had  been  spread  about,  and  his  owner,  Kirby  of  In 
diana,  was  well  known  in  quarter  racing  circles  as  a  keen, 
adroit  man. 

The  man  of  the  sorrel  horse  was  soon  recognized  by  Rus 
sell  as  the  person  he  and  Stackpole  had  met  in  the  "Blue- 
grass,"  and  of  whom  Russell  had  made  such  free  use  in 
his  "redhot  Calvinistic  sermon."  As  they  saw  him  unat 
tended — the  crowd  all  gathered  about  the  bay  horse — slowly 
riding  away  from  the  throng  toward  the  open  field,  a 
strong  feeling  of  sympathy  came  over  them.  They  had 
noticed  a  marked  change  in  his  appearance  since  their 
former  meeting.  Instead  of  the  soiled  finery  in  which  he 
was  then  arrayed,  he  now  wore  a  plain,  new  homespun  suit, 
a  wide  beaver  hat,  polished  boots,  substantial  leather  gloves, 
and  had  all  the  insignia  of  a  prosperous,  respectable  Ken 
tucky  farmer.  All  marks  of  dissipation  had  gone  from 
his  countenance,  giving  place  to  a  healthy,  ruddy  glow,  and 
there  was  now  a  lively  sparkle  in  his  dark  hazel  eyes.  "He 
is  in  the  hands  of  the  Philistines,"  said  Russell;  "let's  go 
to  him  and  renew  our  acquaintance,  and  find  if  we  can 
be  of  any  service  to  him."  Stackpole  readily  assenting, 
they  went  over  to  where  he  stood  dismounted  and  in  the 
act  of  giving  over  the  horse  to  a  negro  man.  As  they  ap 
proached  he  was  heard  to  say,  "Give  him  a  sup  of  water, 
and  then  take  him  over  to  that  tree,"  pointing  across  the 
field,  "and  rub  him  down,  I  will  be  along  there  in  a  little 
while." 


Quarter  Races  455 

As  the  horse  was  led  away,  Russell  and  Stackpole  saluted 
the  owner,  saying  simply,  "How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Holmes  ?" 
For  a  moment,  with  a  puzzled  look,  he  scrutinized  the 
countenances  of  both,  and  then  a  light  broke  over  his  face, 
and  he  reddened,  and  said,  looking  at  Eussell,  not  without 
an  air  of  self-assertion  and  even  superiority,  "Oh !  you  are 
the  great  preacher  I  met  up  the  country  last  year.  Why,  it 
looks  like  the  old  times  we  read  about,  to  see  a  preacher  on 
a  race  track.  But  I  know  all  about  you.  I  was  at  Frank 
fort  soon  after  I  met  you ;  and  I  saw  you  there,  and  pointed 
you  out  to  Paddy  Burns  as  a  great  preacher,  and  he  said, 
'Hell  is  full  of  such  preachers  as  him/  And  I  don't  doubt 
that  it  is.'1  And  then  turning  to  Stackpole  he  said,  "And 
pray,  how  do.  you  find  yourself  ?  You  didn't  have  much  to 
say  when  we  met  before,  but  I  don't  doubt  that  you  were 
like  the  Kentuckian's  parrot — which  was  an  owl — you  kept 
up  a  devil  of  a  thinking." 

There  was  now  in  the  manner  and  speech  of  Mr.  Holmes 
a  strong  trace  of  resentment,  as  of  offended  pride,  that  gave 
Russell  a  feeling  of  uneasiness.  Manifestly,  the  relations 
of  these  people  had  changed  since  they  met  last,  and  the 
interview  seemed  about  to  end  in  a  cold  or  resentful  part 
ing,  when  Mr.  Holmes,  seeing  the  changed  expression  on 
the  faces  of  Russell  and  Stackpole,  said,  in  a  modified  tone, 
"It  was  a  pretty  cool  thing  in  you  gentlemen  to  make  a 
battering  ram  of  me  for  that  ironsides  congregation;  but 
I  am  not  going  to  let  it  stick  in  my  craw,  and  to  show 
you  that  I  have  no  hard  feeling  any  more,  I'll  give  you  a 
point  on  this  race.  Bet  your  money  on  Bally." 

"Why,"  said  Russell,  "we  were  uneasy  about  you,  think 
ing  you  in  the  hands  of  the  Philistines — that  you  would 
suffer  by  these,  sharpers  here — and  we  came  to  renew  our 
acquaintance,  and  to  know  if  we  could  be  of  any  service 
to  you." 

"Did  you,  indeed !"  he  replied,  with  a  look  full  of  kind 
ness,  and  taking  a  hand  of  each  of  them.  "Well,  that  is 
mighty  good  of  you.  But  3rou  needn't  be  uneasy;  they 
can't  beat  Bally."  And  then  he  added,  after  a  pause,  "Come 
over  and  look  at  him — well,  I'm  more  than  glad  to  meet 
you."  And  then,  as  they  walked  along,  he  said,  "No,  they 


456  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

can't  beat  him;  but  this  is  the  last  race  I'm  ever  going  to 
run  him."  And  then,  arresting  his  steps,  and  turning  so 
as  to  face  his  two  new-found  friends,  he  said,  with  an  air 
of  solemnity,  "I've  got  married  since  I  saw  you;  married 
my  old  sweetheart,  that  I've  been  courting  for  I  don't 
know  how  many  years;  but  she  wouldn't  hear  of  it  until 
I  went  into  bonds,  and  kept  away  from  drink  and  cyards 
for  a  whole  year.  I  compromised  on  one  more  race  for 
Bally.  This  is  the  last  race  I'll  ever  run.  I'm  a  family 
man  now,  and  my  word's  out!  I've  promised  to  give  half 
my  winnings  down  here  to  my  wife's  church  that  they  are 
building  in  Paris.  And  I'm  not  to  bet  but  two  hundred 
dollars,  unless  somebody  tigerates  me  too  much,  and  then 
only  one  more  hundred.  Her  church  ain't  so  much  down 
on  amusement  as  the  others  are — it's  the  big  Episcopal ! 
But  I'm  done  with  all  betting  after  this  race.  My  word's 
out !  And  it  won't  be  hard  for  me  to  keep  it,  either.  I've 
been  married  now  three  months,  and  this  is  the  first  time 
I've  passed  a  night  away  from  home,  and  I'm  homesick 
now." 

Coming  to  where  the  horse  stood  beneath  the  shade  of  a 
tree  in  the  field,  he  said,  "There  he  is.  Look  him  over. 
You'll  find  marks  of  blood  all  about  him.  Feel  his  coat; 
and  look  at  his  little  muzzle,  and  his  big,  thin  nostrils,  and 
his  full  eyes — and  his  forehead !  And  what  do  you  say  to 
his  legs — for  a  horse  over  sixteen  hands  ?  He's  a  full  half- 
brother  to  John  Eichards  I" 

"Yes,"  said  Russell,  after  a  close  scrutiny  of  the  horse, 
"he  shows  blood;  but  he  seems  to  me  too  big  for  a  race 
horse ;  especially  for  a  short,  sharp  dash,  where  the  start  is 
so  important.  I  should  think  he  would  be  slow  to  start." 

<fYes,  he  is  big  for  a  race  at  short  distances,  or  at  any 
distance.  Major  Buford  saw  him  at  Lexington  and  wanted 
to  buy  him  for  the  saddle,  because  he  would  suit  his 
weight;  and  he  offered  me  a  big  price,  though  he  didn't 
know  he  was  a  racer.  He  told  me  I  ought  to  call  him 
Colossus;  but  I  never  liked  any  heathen  names  for  horses, 
and  I  just  call  him  Bally.  That  was  just  before  he  beat 
'Lynch-pin'  three  hundred  yards.  He  has  beat  'Stick-in- 
the-mud,'  at  Harrodsburg,  a  thousand  yards,  and  'Crazy- 


Quarter  Races  457 

Jane'  six  hundred,  and  people  thought  he  couldn't  run  such 
a  short  distance  as  three  hundred  yards.  But  he  beat 
'Lynch-pin,'  too." 

"Why,  then,  he  must  be  well  known  to  these  racing  men 
here,"  said  Russell;  "and  that  Indiana  man  must  have  a 
good  horse  in  that  bay,  or  he  would  not  have  matched 
him." 

"Well,  no;  Bally  has  never  run  here  at  The  Falls,  and 
he  hasn't  been  on  any  track  for  a  long  time,  and  there  are 
so  many  new  horses  coming  on  every  year,  there  ain't  but 
a  few,  if  any,  that  know  him.  A  race  horse  is  like  a  poli 
tician — he's  soon  forgot  if  he  keeps  off  the  track.  The 
few  that  may  know  him  will  keep  their  own  counsel.  As 
to  that  bay  horse,  he's  a  good  one,  I  don't  doubt,  and  his 
owner,  Kirby,  is  a  sharp  man;  but  he  can't  beat  Bally. 
Bally  can  beat  him  every  foot  in  the  race.  Six  hundred 
yards  makes  it  a  certainty.  You'll  see  him  laid  out  at 
four  hundred,  if  he  keeps  anywhere  near  Bally." 

"I  have  noticed,"  said  Russell,  "that  in  these  short  races 
they  often  have  a  man  with  a  wagon-whip  to  cut  the  horse 
when  the  word  is  given,  and  insure  a  prompt  start.  I 
know  two  men  here,  the  Mundy  brothers,  both  experts  in 
these  races,  and  if  vou  say  so  I  will  get  one  of  them  to 
do  this." 

"Well,  I  don't  object,"  said  Holmes,  laughing,  "but  if 
he  cuts  Bally  after  the  word's  given,  he'll  surprise  me." 

A  man  was  now  seen  approaching  them  over  the  field, 
at  whom  Holmes  gazed  intently  some  moments,  and  then 
said  slowly,  while  still  gazing  at  the  stranger,  "If — if — I 
don't — believe — that's  old  Major — Davy!  And  I'll  bet  a 
horse  to  a  hen — that — he  knows  Bally,  and  is  coming  to 
look  at  him !  He  saw  him  run  «it  Harrodsburg,  and  at 
Lexington,  and  now  he's  coming  to  see  how  he's  doing,  be 
fore  he  backs  him  in  this  race." 

It  was  indeed  the  Major,  a  well-known  veteran  of  the 
quarter  track,  now  approaching.  He  was  a  tall,  thin  old 
man,  with  a  prodigious  nose — aquiline  and  red,  and  shining 
in  the  autumn  sun.  He  wore  a  long-skirted  frock-coat  of 
dark  cloth,  with  a  great  length  of  white  marseilles  waist 
coat,  a  white  cravat,  and  a  wide-brimmed  white  beaver  hat. 


458  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

A  dewlap,  thin  and  translucent — showing  the  blood-vessels 
— sprang  from  somewhere  beneath  his  cravat,  and  termi 
nated  just  under  his  chin.  He  wore  spectacles,  but  did  not 
look  through  the  glasses,  but  over  them,  while  they  rested 
low  down  on  his  nose.  He  made  a  courtly  salutation  to  the 
company,  as  he  advanced,  and  then  shook  hands  with 
Holmes,  and  immediately,  excusing  himself  to  Eussell  and 
Stackpole  for  so  doing,  invited  Holmes  to  a  private  talk. 
As  they  walked  aside,  the  Major's  face  had  an  intense  busi 
ness  expression.  He  was  chewing  excitedly  a  quill,  switch 
ing  it  from  side  to  side  of  his  mouth.  Only  fragments  of 
their  talk  could  be  heard  by  the  other  parties.  "Been  well 
wintered — exercised  every  day;  long  walks,  led  by  the 
bridle,"  was  about  all  that  Holmes  was  heard  to  say.  The 
voice  of  Major  Davy  was  pitched  so  low  as  to  be  inaudible. 
He  seemed  to  feel  great  interest  in  the  subject  of  the  inter 
view;  chewing  vigorously  his  toothpick,  and  at  the  end 
throwing  it  away  in  fragments.  Then  he  and  Holmes  re 
turned  to  the  company  and  to  the  horse,  which  the  Major, 
now  looking  through  his  glasses  pushed  up  to  his  eyes, 
closely  surveyed.  Then,  stooping  and  passing  his  hands 
along  the  horse's  legs,  each  in  turn,  he  slowly  and  carefully, 
with  thumb  and  finger,  explored  all  the  tendons.  As  he 
rose  from  this  scrutiny,  Holmes  looked  eagerly  into  his 
eyes,  and  said,  in  a  tone  of  interrogatory,  "Nothing  there — 
not  a  buckshot  ?" 

"N"o,"  replied  the  Major;  "nothing  to  hurt."  And  then 
he  added,  "Don't  be  in  a  hurry  to  bring  him  to  the  track ; 
there's  plenty  of  time."  And  then  he  sauntered  away  slow 
ly  back  to  the  course. 

Holmes  and  his  friends  remained  for  some  time  in  the 
field.  Then  the  horse  was  again  thoroughly  brushed  over, 
and  now  shone  with  a  fine  golden  shimmer  that  showed 
his  claim  to  blood  well  founded.  Then  they  made  their 
way  to  the  track,  where  all  was  bustle  and  excitement.  The 
betting  was  greatly  in  favor  of  the  Indiana  horse,  whose 
friends  were  vociferously  offering  large  and  small  sums  on 
their  favorite.  There  were  now  more  takers  for  these  bets ; 
among  them  Mr.  Jim  Woods,  the  silent  partner  of  the 
gambling  house  of  John  Lewis,  who  betted  considerable  sums 


Quarter  Races  459 

with  his  partners,  who  were  backing  the  favorite.  There 
were  also  among  those  who  backed  Holmes's  horse  those 
perverse  Kentuckians  who,  as  a  rule,  back  the  native  horse 
against  the  foreigner,  and  never  under  any  circumstances 
back  the  foreigner  against  the  native.  Among  these  was 
Mr.  Joe  Sterrett,  who  was  defiantly  putting  up  considerable 
sums  on  the  sorrel.  Major  Davy  also  made  several  con 
siderable  wagers  the  same  way. 

Kirby  was  now  seen  approaching  Holmes.  Holmes  ad 
vanced  to  meet  him,  and  they  exchanged  the  courtesies 
usual  with  gentlemen  on  the  eve  of  hostilities.  In  ancient 
times,  in  cases  of  hostilities  between  strange  warriors,  each 
was  accustomed  to  boast  of  his  lineage  and  his  exploits, 
and  often,  according  to  Homer  and  the  Bible,  they  reviled 
each  other.  The  age  of  chivalry  had  put  an  end  to  this 
rudeness,  substituting  a  lofty  courtesy,  which  was  observed 
even  in  these  peaceful  contests  on  the  race  course.  Lifting 
his  hat  and  running  his  fingers  through  his  roach,  Kirby 
said,  "I  should  like,  by  way  of  gettin'  better  acquainted 
with  you,  to  bet  you  another  hundred  dollars." 

"I'm  much  obleeged  to  you,  I'm  sure,"  answered  Holmes, 
"but  I'm  under  a  partial  promise  not  to  bet  any  more; 
but  I  think  we'll  know  each  other  a  good  deal  better  when 
the  race  is  over." 

Then  Major  Davy,  who  stood  by,  said,  "It  looks  foolish, 
when  a  gentleman  refuses  to  back  his  own  horse,  for  a 
stranger  to  do  it.  But  it  seems  hard  for  gentlemen,  when 
they  have  come  so  far  from  home,  not  to  be  able  to  get 
their  money  on  their  horse,  and,  just  to  accommodate,  I 
will  take  your  bet — just  to  accommodate";  and  the  money 
was  staked.  Then  the  Major  was  seen  to  make  other  con 
siderable  bets,  and  his  voice  was  heard  from  wherever  bet 
tors  were  congregated,  saying,  "Just  to  accommodate,"  and 
showing  himself,  wherever  bets  on  the  Indianian  were 
offered,  a  most  affable  and  accommodating  old  gentleman. 

Notwithstanding  the  courtesies  between  Holmes  and  his 
adversary,  it  was  not  likely  that  any  legitimate  means  of 
securing  success  would  be  omitted  by  either.  It  was  a  com 
mon  practice  in  these  races,  as  well  as  in  the  thoroughbred 
races,  for  the  riders  to  endeavor,  by  sly,  boastful  speeches, 


460  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

to  intimidate  their  adversaries,  or  to  excite  their  anger, 
and  so  demoralize  them;  and  in  the  thoroughbred  races 
violent  quarrels  between  the  riders  often  went  on  during 
the  race.  In  these  short  races  there  was  no  time  for  this, 
and  whatever  was  done  in  this  way  had  to  be  done  in  the 
beginning.  The  betting  had  now  abated,  and  the  race  being 
on  all  sides  called  for,  Holmes  and  Kirby  mounted  and  rode 
to  the  judges'  stand.  They  were  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  with 
handkerchiefs  tied  about  their  heads,  the  only  difference 
being  that  Holmes  wore  his  waistcoat. 

As  they  sat  on  their  horses,  the  judges  in  the  stand  above 
in  conference,  some  one  in  the  crowd  called  out  to  Holmes 
to  take  off  his  waistcoat ;  to  which  he  replied,  "Oh !  Bally 
don't  mind  a  little  weight ;  I'd  wear  my  hat,  only  the  breeze 
he'll  make  would  take  it  off  o'  my  head." 

Kirby  chuckled  significantly  at  this  little  sally  and,  with 
a  smile  and  a  sly  look  at  Holmes's  eyes,  said,  "Do  you 
know  what  you're  runnin'  ag'in?" 

"No-o,"  answered  Holmes  in  his  drawling  way ;  "what  is 
he,  anyhow?" 

"Well,"  said  Kirby,  with  a  look  as  ominous  as  if  he  were 
about  to  announce  something  that  would  blast  the  hopes 
of  his  adversary  and  grieve  his  heart,  "this  is  'Jerry-go- 
naked.'  ';  This  was  a  plain  case  of  "tigerating." 

Holmes  did  not  show  any  signs  of  concern  at  this  an 
nouncement,  but  only  looked  the  bay  horse  over  from  crup 
per  to  foretop,  and  then  said,  "Well,  if  that's  'Jerry-go- 
naked,'  I'll  just  bet  you  another  hundred  that  I  beat  him." 

"Talk!"  quickly  responded  Kirby,  and  leaning  far  back 
on  his  saddle,  to  get  at  his  pocket,  and  pushing  his  hand 
deep  into  his  breeches,  he  pulled  out  his  wallet,  while 
Holmes  took  two  folded  fifty-dollar  banknotes  from  his 
waistcoat,  and  the  stakes  were  put  up  in  the  hands  of  the 
judges. 

Meantime,  Russell  had  engaged  for  the  wagon-whip  act 
his  friend  Mundy,  who  now  went  along,  whip  in  hand,  with 
a  full  half  of  the  crowd,  to  the  point  from  which  the  horses 
were  to  start.  Russell  and  Stackpole  remained  at  the  place 
of  outcome,  where  all  was  intense  excitement.  A  crowd 
of  men  were  there  struggling  and  pushing,  closing  the 


Quarter  Races  461 

track  in  their  eagerness  to  get,  down  the  stretch,  a  view 
of  the  start.  Then  there  was  a  cry— "They're  off !"  The 
crowd  scattered  backward,  the  beating  of  the  horses'  feet 
was  heard — not  in  the  quadrupedantical  rhythm  of  the 
poet,  but  in  a  roll  like  the  rolling  of  drums.  On  they  came, 
the  shirt-sleeves  of  the  riders  quivering  and  snapping  in 
the  air,  and  stormed  past  the  score,  Bally  more  than  twenty 
feet  in  advance. 

As  Holmes  rode  back  to  the  stand,  and  Bally  stood  with 
head  erect  and  eyes  blazing,  only  his  wide  thin  nostrils 
showing  that  he  had  made  any  unusual  exertion,  Russell 
and  Stackpole  hastened  to  congratulate  the  victor.  "Did 
you  see  him  start?"  asked  Holmes. 

"No,  no ;  we  were  here  to  see  him  come  out." 

"Oh,  you  ought  to  have  seen  him  start!  Any  nag  can 
come  out,  but  it  takes  a  HORSE  to  start.  That  Jerry-go- 
naked  ain't  a  bad  starter,  but  Bally! — oh,  you  ought  to 
have  seen  him !  I  felt  him  under  me  fixing  himself  till  he 
was  like  something  set  up  on  triggers;  and  right  on  the 
word  he  fetched  a  grunt  you  might  have  heard  up  here, 
and  jumped  twenty  feet !" 

"Mundy  was  there  with  the  whip,"  said  Eussell ;  "I  sup 
pose  he  cut  him?" 

"Well,  no-o.  He  was  there  and  cut  at  him,  but  Bally 
was  gone." 

Pretty  soon  Holmes  had  made  ready  to  depart  for  his 
home  in  the  Bluegrass,  and  came  trotting  after  Stackpole's 
carriage  as  Russell  and  he  were  driving  away  from  the 
course,  Bally  extending  himself  in  a  marvelous  way  in  a 
trot.  "Why,  look  at  him,"  exclaimed  Holmes  as  he  came 
alongside ;  "I  do  believe  he  would  make  a  'Northern  trot 
ter,'  if  he  would  come  down  to  such  a  business."  And  then, 
as  Stackpole  pulled  up  the  horses,  he  said,  "I  wanted  to 
say  good-by.  I  should  have  been  ready  to  start  with  you, 
but  I  had  to  get  Jim  Woods  to  take  off  his  plates  and  put  on 
his  shoes  for  the  road.  Jim  shod  him  for  the  race.  He 
knows  Bally  of  old,  and  won  a  pile !  I  am  off  for  home.  If 
you  ever  come  to  Bourbon  I  want  you  to  come  and  see  me. 
I  don't  ask  JOM  as  people  sometimes  do,  hopin'  to  God  that 
you  may  never  come,  but  because  I'll  be  more  than  glad  to 


462  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

see  you.  Anybody  in  Paris  can  tell  you  where  I  live.  Fve 
got  a  piece  of  grass  there,  and  my  business  now  is  dealing 
in  fine  horses.  You'll  find  Bally  and  me  retired  from  the 
turf — me  a  sober  farmer,  and  him  drawing  my  wife  about 
the  country  and  to  church,  in  her  little  barouche.  No 
more  racing  for  us.  My  word's  out."  And  then,  after  a 
cordial  leave-taking,  he  rode  away. 

Eussell  and  Stackpole  continued  to  attend  the  quarter 
races  to  the  close,  enjoying  the  humors  of  this  large  as 
semblage  of  professed  sharp  practitioners;  especially  Mr. 
Burk,  a  keeper  of  a  second-rate  tavern  in  the  town,  who 
was  always  present  on  such  occasions,  prepared  for  a  coup, 
and  often  caught  the  crowd,  before  the  racing  ended,  with 
something  unexpected.  He  had  a  very  lively  chattering 
manner,  much  wit,  and  more  oddity,  and  kept  people  in 
good  humor  wherever  he  went.  On  the  third  and  last  day 
he  was  very  active  endeavoring  to  get  up  a  pacing  race ;  in 
quiring  everywhere  for  pacing  horses.  Pacing  races  were 
not  uncommon  then,  the  Canadian  pacer  having  been  ex 
tensively  bred  there  for  the  saddle.  But  there  seemed  to  be 
no  pacers  present. 

The  attention  of  Eussell  was  also  particularly  drawn 
to  another  man,  mounted  upon  a  dark  roan  horse,  and 
dressed  in  a  new  suit  of  blue-jeans,  who  was  constantly 
riding  from  one  part  of  the  field  to  another,  closely  observ 
ing  the  people  and  the  horses,  but  holding  no  communica 
tion  with  any  one.  The  horse  Russell  thought  to  be  the 
same  he  had  seen  so  carefully  groomed  in  the  trotting  sta 
bles  of  the  little  man  from  Rhode  Island,  and  the  man  he 
fancied  to  resemble  the  one  with  whom  he  had  talked  there, 
and  whose  whittling  played  such  an  important  part  in  his 
talk.  But  his  suit  of  country  jeans  seemed  to  negative 
this.  Curious  to  ascertain  the  truth,  Russell  walked  near 
one  of  the  booths  in  the  field,  where  this  man  sat  upon  his 
horse,  and  soon  after  saw  him  approached  by  Burk.  Stand 
ing  concealed  by  the  booth,  and  cocking  his  ear  toward 
them,  he  heard  Burk  say,  in  answer  to  some  muttered  words 
of  the  other,  "Don't  you  git  out  of  patience.  Just  leave  it 
all  to  me.  If  it's  on  the  cyards  I'll  fetch  it.  And  don't 
you  open  your  mouth  to  a  single  soul.  If  you  speak  a 


Quarter  Races  463 

single  word  to  any  man  in  this  crowd  the  whole  business 
will  be  busted  up.  You  don't  know  these  people !  If  they 
hear  a  man  call  a  cow  a  keaouw,  they  ain't  a-goin'  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  bettin'  him  on  a  trottin'  nor  a  pacin' 
race — not  a  thing  in  the  world,  especially  bettin'  on  a  pacin' 
race." 

"Wall,"  replied  the  man,  "I  dun't  calc'late  to  say  nothin' 
abeaout  keaouws;  it's  hossis  that's  got  to  dew  with  this 
business." 

"There,  now !  Hossis  is  just  as  bad  as  keaouws.  How 
do  you  spell  hossis  in  your  country?" 

"H-o-s-s-i-s,"  he  replied. 

"Well,  out  here  we  spell  it  h-a-w-s-e-z.  And  I  tell 
you  ag'in  that  the  fat  will  all  be  in  the  fire  if  you  open 
your  mouth  to  any  of  these  fellers.  You  see,  there  come 
a  feller  once  to  these  races,  drivin'  a  little  ewe-necked 
sorrel  horse  in  a  wagon,  peddlin'  clocks.  He  tried  hard  to 
sell  his  clocks  and  seemed  desperate  about  it,  and  at  last, 
when  they  got  up  a  pacin'  race,  he  said  he  wanted  to  git 
shet  of  his  clocks  somehow,  and  if  they  would  let  him  put 
up  clocks  for  his  entry  he'd  put  his  horse  that  he  had  in 
his  wagon  in  the  race.  Somebody  asked  him  if  his  horse 
was  fast,  and  he  said  he  was  'fast  enough  to  ketch  a 
keaouw.'  They  let  him  in,  and  then  everybody  wanted 
clocks,  and  they  bantered  him  for  bets,  clocks  against  mon 
ey.  He  'wanted  to  git  shet  of  'em,'  he  said,  'someway.' 
Well,  he  beat  the  whole  party,  and  drove  away  with  a  pile 
of  money  and  all  his  clocks." 

The  man  on  the  roan  smiled,  and  his  eyes  lighted  up  at 
hearing  of  this  exploit  of  a  compatriot.  "Wall,"  he  said, 
"I  guess  I'll  hev  to  leave  it  all  to  yeaouw ;  but  I  dun't  see 
nothin'  of  no  rackin'  hossis  'beaout  here  nowheres." 

"There  you  go  again,"  said  Burk.  "They  call  it  pacin' 
out  here,  not  rackin'.  You  just  keep  your  shirt  on,  and 
I'll  fix  it  yet.  And  don't  open  your  mouth  to  anybody." 
With  this  parting  injunction  Mr.  Burk  returned  to  the 
track.  Soon  he  was  heard  at  different  places  crying  out  in 
a  loud  voice,  "Ain't  nobody  got  no  pacin'  horses  here? 
There's  a  country  fellow  over  here  from  Indiana  says  he 
wants  to  git  a  pacin'  race  on  his  horse,  and  I'd  like  to  see 


464  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

him  have  a  show."  And  again,  in  another  place,  "Where's 
all  the  pacin'  horses  that  used  to  be  stavin'  and  spraddlin' 
about  the  track  here  ?  There's  a  country  feller  over  there 
says  he  wants  to  make  a  race  for  a  mile  dash,  on  a  pacin' 
horse."  But  there  was  no  response. 

Later  in  the  day,  when  a  heavy  rain  had  fallen,  muddy 
ing  the  track  and  putting  an  end  to  further  quarter  racing, 
and  Mr.  Burk  was  still  going  about  in  quest  of  some  man 
having  a  pacing  horse,  one  of  the  Mundy  brothers,  at  whose 
stable  Stackpole's  horses  were  kept,  came  to  Staekpole  and 
said,  "Burk  is  trying  to  get  a  match  against  a  roan  pacing 
horse  here.  He's  a  'dark  horse,'  and  a  good  one,  I  reckon ; 
but  I  think  your  off-horse  of  the  gray  team  can  beat  him, 
if  you  will  let  us  make  the  match  and  manage  the  race." 

Russell  here  quickly  interposed,  telling  them  of  his  hav 
ing  seen  both  the  horse  and  man  in  the  trotting  stables  of 
the  Rhode  Island  man,  and  of  the  talk  he  had  overheard 
between  the  man  and  Burk,  and  advising  against  the  match. 
Stackpole  seemed  not  disinclined  to  make  the  race,  and 
said,  "My  gray  off-horse  was  originally  a  pacer,  but  was 
afterward  broken  to  trot,  and  now,  when  urged  beyond  his 
speed  at  a  trot,  goes  into  a  rack,  and  can  go  at  a  great 
rate." 

"He  can,  indeed,"  said  Mundy ;  "and  if  you  will  let  me 
manage  it  I'll  beat  that  roan.  I  know  all  about  him.  Burk 
is  always  looking  around  for  some  ketch,  and  he  found  out 
that  fellow's  horse,  and  persuaded  him  to  stay  behind  when 
the  trotting  men  went  away,  and  has  been  keeping  the  man 
and  his  horse  at  the  tavern  ever  since.  It  would  be  such 
a  joke  on  Burk  to  beat  him !  I  wouldn't  miss  it  for  the 
world !  You  needn't  bet  a  cent.  Brother  and  I  will  take 
all  the  stake  of  a  hundred  dollars." 

"How  are  you  going  to  beat  him  ?"  said  Russell.  "Your 
horse  is  not  in  training;  and  depend  upon  it,  there  is  no 
horse  here  that  can  pace  with  that  roan." 

"Well,  now,  listen,"  said  Mundy,  lowering  his  voice. 
"That  roan  can  beat  Mr.  Stackpole's  horse,  I  don't  doubt. 
But  in  the  fix  the  track's  now  in,  with  mud  half  a  leg  deep, 
no  horse  can  pace  fast.  I  will  ride,  and  let  him  take  the 
lead  all  the  way  'round  to  the  quarter  stretch.  There  the 


Quarter  Races  465 

distance  stand  is  placed,  and  from  that  on,  along  the  side 
of  the  track,  is  a  path  trod  by  the  crowd  passing  over  it 
till  it  is  solid  as  a  rope  walk.  The  distance  stand  is  right 
in  the  path,  but  it  is  on  wheels,  and  when  the  horses  get  off, 
I'll  have  four  or  five  men  to  go  down  and  roll  it  out  of  the 
way,  and  when  I  come  there  I  will  pull  on  to  the  hard 
path,  and  beat  him  out,  if  he  is  a  hundred  yards  ahead. 
He  won't  know  anything  of  that  towpath,  and  will  be 
plugging  along  through  the  mud,  not  knowing  that  I  can 
do  any  better,  and  I  will  slip  up  on  him  along  the  hard 
path.  We'll  beat  him  sure  I" 

Russell  was  captivated  by  the  element  of  mischief  in  the 
plot,  and  now  became  an  earnest  advocate  of  the  match, 
and  Mundy  went  away  to  close  it;  Stackpole  and  Russell 
agreeing  to  take  such  interest  in  the  stake  as  Mundy  might 
assign  them.  This  was  fixed  at  fifteen  dollars  each,  the 
Mundy  brothers  and  their  friends  taking  the  remainder. 

Soon  after  the  match  was  made,  Burk  was  actively  en 
gaged  offering  bets  on  the  roan  horse,  but  found  no  takers, 
people  being  shy  on  account  of  his  well-known  shrewdness 
and  his  reputation  for  sharp  practice.  He  now  went  about 
everywhere  crying,  "Where  are  the  friends  of  the  gray 
horse  ?" 

"He  ain't  got  no  friends,"  some  one  replied. 

"Well,  it's  the  strangest  thing  I  ever  saw,"  rejoined 
Burk.  "The  horse  must  have  some  friends.  Somebody 
put  him  in  the  race.  He  didn't  enter  himself,  I  reckon. 
Somebody  must  be  about  that  wants  to  bet  on  him."  And 
then,  in  a  louder  voice,  looking  toward  Stackpole  and  Rus 
sell,  "Who  wants  to  bet  on  the  gray?"  But  there  was  no 
response.  At  last,  finding  no  takers,  he  began  to  offer  odds ; 
first  three  to  two,  then  two  to  one,  and  last  three  to  one, 
when  some  of  his  offers  were  taken ;  and  at  last  he  found 
so  many  to  take  the  odds,  that  he  backed  himself  against 
one  of  the  stands,  and  was  busy  for  almost  half  an  hour 
with  a  throng  of  people  making  bets. 

Then  the  race  came  off.  The  roan  at  once  took  the  lead, 
and  soon  put  a  considerable  gap  between  himself  and  the 
gray,  widening  this  gap  as  he  went,  until  the  last  quarter 
was  reached,  where  Mundy  was  almost  a  hundred  yards  be- 


466  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

hind.  Meantime,  the  distance  stand  had  been  removed, 
and  when  the  gray  turned  into  the  quarter,  Mundy  pulled 
him  on  to  the  hard  path,  and  striking  him  with  the  spur, 
he  sprang  off  with  marvelous  speed — swallowing  the  way — 
and  rushed  past  the  roan  (whose  rider  started  in  his  saddle, 
amazed  at  finding  him  close  at  hand),  crossing  the  score 
several  lengths  ahead. 

The  races  were  now  at  an  end.  The  men  and  the  horses 
trooped  away,  leaving  the  course  and  the  booths  and  the 
stands 

"All  tenantless  save  to  the  crannying  winds." 

But  all  were  destined  to  be  furbished  up  in  another  year, 
and  similar  scenes  enacted. 


CHAPTEE  XL VII 

MR.   OULD'S  ACCIDENT 

"The  uncommon  beauty  and  marvelous  English  of  the  Prot 
estant  Bible!  It  lives  on  the  ear  like  music  that  can  never 
be  forgotten.  The  memory  of  the  dead  passes  into  it.  The 
potent  traditions  of  childhood  are  stereotyped  in  its  verses. 
The  power  of  all  the  griefs  and  trials  of  a  man  is  hidden  be 
neath  its  words.  It  is  the  representative  of  his  best  moments; 
and  all  that  there  has  been  about  him  soft,  and  gentle,  and 
pure,  and  penitent,  and  good  speaks  to  him  forever  out  of  his 
English  Bible." 

IN  THE  course  of  the  season  a  very  distressing  incident 
occurred  in  the  life  of  Mr.  Quid  at  The  Falls.  The  old 
Irish  soldier  mentioned  in  connection  with  the  arrival  of 
the  first  steamboat  brought  the  following  message  to  Rus 
sell  :  "L'yer  Taylor  tould  me  to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Ould 
has  been  hurted  very  bad.  He  lept  out  of  the  windy  in  a 
fit  of  delarium  tremenjus  and  is  'most  kilt  intirely." 

Nothing  saved  Ould  from  death  but  the  strong  flaxen 
fabric  from  the  looms  at  Vaughn's,  which  covered  the 
veranda  upon  which  he  fell.  He  was  grievously  hurt,  and 
lay  for  a  long  time  suffering,  seeing  only  the  doctor  and 
necessary  attendants. 

When  fairly  on  the  way  to  convalescence  and  restored 
health,  but  still  confined  to  his  room,  and  barely  able  with 
a  crutch  to  walk  across  the  floor,  Ould  sent  for  John  D. 
to  visit  him.  He  had  passed  through  a  severe  ordeal,  by 
which  his  strong  frame  had  been  rudely  shaken  and  his 
fortitude  sorely  tried.  His  sensitive  temperament  had 
made  his  friends  apprehend  that  he  would  prove  a  difficult 
subject  for  the  necessary  treatment,  and  they  were  sur 
prised  to  see  him  refuse  the  narcotics  offered  by  the  sur 
geon,  and  exhibit  throughout  the  period  of  his  greatest 
suffering  the  utmost  fortitude.  Only  at  the  last,  when 

467 


468  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

worn  down  and  wasted,  he  had  asked  for  opium,  and  cried 
out  in  his  agony,  "How  long,  0  Lord,  how  long?"  As 
siduous  nursing,  and  the  best  surgical  skill  the  town  afford 
ed,  had  now  .brought  him  to  the  verge  of  convalescence. 

On  a  Sunday  afternoon  John  D.  paid  him  a  visit.  He 
found  him  in  a  grave  humor,  but  inclined  to  talk,  as  he 
always  was  with  John  D. 

"I  am  getting  well,  John  D.  But  I  am  not  elated  by 
that.  I  miss  the  pain  I  have  so  long  endured,  and  the 
palliatives  given  for  it — the  alternations  of  suffering  and 
ease.  These  have  been  good  for  me.  I  now  dread  a  restora 
tion  to  assured  health  and  ease.  I  interpret  for  myself  the 
constancy  of  Prometheus  bound  to  the  rock,  crying  "Ai, 
ai/  while  the  vulture  devoured  his  liver.  He  coveted  the 
full  punishment  of  his  crime.  He  wanted  to  pay  the  full 
penalty  of  the  law,  and  dreaded  lest  he  should  be  prema 
turely  remitted  to  himself.  But  I  do  not  think  I  shall 
ever  again  sin  in  the  way  that  has  led  to  such  trouble — I 
hope  not.  God  help  me !" 

He  had  often  urged  upon  John  D.  the  usefulness  of 
recording  in  a  diary  the  events  of  the  day,  then  a  very 
common  practice,  and  he  now  recurred  to  this,  and  said, 
"Besides  giving  you  facility  in  expressing  in  writing  what 
ever  you  may  wish  to  say, — a  valuable  and  rare  accomplish 
ment, — it  will  force  a  certain  quantum  of  self-examination, 
and  if  you  have  any  fixed  purpose  in  life,  as  every  man 
ought  to  have,  will  serve  you  as  the  mariner's  reckoning 
serves  him,  showing  how  far  you  may  have  drifted  from 
your  course,  and  bring  you  back  to  it.  Moreover,  it  will 
be  of  great  interest  to  you  in  after  years.  The  days  of 
youth  are  with  most  men  their  happiest  days,  and  are 
always  recalled  with  pleasure.  Even  misfortunes  and  mis 
carriages,  serious  enough  at  that  time,  are  in  after  life 
subjects  for  mirth,  and  we  laugh  at  them  as  at  the  mis 
chances  of  a  journey. 

"My  youthful  days  were  not  without  hardship.  My  fa 
ther  had  never  been  rich,  though  always  independent.  He 
was  a  soldier  of  the  Revolution,  the  captain  of  a  troop  of 
horse  which  he  equipped  at  his  own  cost,  with  money  raised 
by  mortgage  on  his  land  and  slaves.  In  the  general  finan- 


Mr.  Quid's  Accident  469 

cial  crash  that  followed  the  war  he  lost  everything.  And 
he  met  the  usual  fate  of  men  who  fall  in  worldly  position : 
the  greedy  citizens  swept  on,  not  pausing  to  look  upon  the 
poor  and  broken  bankrupt  there.  In  his  old  age  he  became 
penurious,  saving  everything,  however  small,  that  came  to 
his  hands.  All  the  pay  he  had  received  in  continental  mon 
ey,  in  large  notes,  was  put  away  in  a  long  leather  pocket- 
book,  which  he  kept  always  in  the  breast  of  his  coat.  His 
hand  was  always  near  it,  or  his  arm  pressed  the  pocket 
where  the  book  lay,  thus  constantly  assuring  himself  that 
his  treasure  was  safe.  No  man  could  persuade  him  that 
this  money  would  not  be  good  in  the  end. 

"My  only  brother,  a  few  years  my  senior,  had  got  a 
place  on  a  packet  ship  sailing  to  Liverpool,  and  my  father 
and  I  went  out  from  Norfolk  in  a  small  boat  to  see  him 
before  he  sailed.  We  were  hospitably  entertained  by  Cap 
tain  Johnston,  who  had  known  us  in  better  days.  He 
promised  my  father  to  look  well  after  George,  and,  as  he 
said,  'make  a  man  of  him/  After  we  had  left  the  ship 
in  our  boat,  and  had  got  a  short  distance  away,  the  captain 
hailed  us  through  his  trumpet,  and,  looking  back,  we  saw 
drawn  up  along  the  ship's  side  the  whole  crew,  who,  under 
the  lead  of  the  captain,  gave  "Three  cheers  for  Captain 
Ould,  a  brave  soldier  of  the  Eevolution !'  Poor  old  father 
started  to  his  feet,  taking  off  his  hat  to  make  a  salutation 
to  this  unexpected  compliment,  when  the  boat  lurched  and 
sent  him  headlong  into  the  sea.  One  of  the  men  was  out 
in  an  instant,  and  bore  his  head  above  the  waves,  and  in 
a  short  time  we  had  him  in  the  boat,  safe  but  half  strangled 
by  the  salt  water.  Before  he  could  articulate  I  found  him 
clutching  at  the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat,  where  his  treas 
ure  lay,  tearing  away  the  threads  with  which,  out  of  abun 
dant  caution,  he  had  stitched  the  mouth  of  the  pocket. 
'Bob,'  he  whispered  in  my  ear,  'I  am  afraid  we  are  ruined. 
Hurry  the  men  ashore,  and  let's  get  where  we  may  dry  it. 
Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!  The  service  and  hardship  of  years 
may  be  destroyed  in  a  moment/ 

"He  did  not  even  look  back  to  the  ship,  where  a  boat 
had  been  lowered,  but,  at  a  signal,  drawn  back  again,  think 
ing  only  of  his  treasure  and  hurrying  the  men  ashore.  Of 


470  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

course,  his  whole  store  of  continental  money  was  not  worth 
a  penny,  but  nothing  could  shake  his  belief  that  it  would 
all  be  good  some  day ;  and  this  delusion  he  literally  hugged 
to  his  bosom  until  he  died. 

"Before  my  brother  got  a  place  on  the  ship,  we  had  sup 
ported  ourselves  and  our  father  by  trafficking  in  oranges 
and  other  West  Indian  fruits ;  buying  them  in  Norfolk,  and 
peddling  them  about  the  towns  and  country.  We  became 
adepts  at  this  business,  learning  to  select  such  fruits  .as 
would  keep,  and  to  put  first  into  market  such  as  were  ripe, 
and  we  drove  a  pretty  thrifty  trade.  But  the  calamities 
incident  to  trade  sometimes  fell  upon  us,  when  large  quan 
tities  of  our  commodities  rotted  on  our  hands.  No  mer 
chant  with  argosies  squandered  abroad  in  hazardous  specu 
lation  ever  felt  greater  anxiety  and  distress  than  we  did 
then ;  I  recall,  even  now,  the  dismay  with  which,  in  solemn 
consultation  one  night,  we  contemplated  bankruptcy ! 

"After  George  went  to  sea,  I  continued  the  business  for 
a  year,  when  my  father  died.  Then  a  bachelor  brother  of 
my  mother,  a  lawyer  in  Richmond,  sent  for  me,  and,  after 
two  years  at  school,  I  entered  his  office,  where  I  studied 
for  three  years,  having  the  benefit  of  a  large  law  and  mis 
cellaneous  library.  Then  I  met  your  grandfather  Digby, 
who  had  been  the  friend  and  comrade  of  my  father  in  the 
war,  and  at  his  suggestion  I  came  with  him  to  The  Falls. 

"The  reminiscences  of  my  youth  are  all  that  I  care  to 
recall.  All  the  rest  I  would  willingly  dismiss  from  my 
mind  forever.  But  who  can  at  will  dismiss  the  past  ?  The 
strange,  the  mysterious  past !  To-day  is  obvious,  common 
place.  We  grapple  with  it,  toy  with  it,  possess  it  as  a  thing 
that  is  ours  to  use  or  to  doff  aside,  as  we  will.  But  yes 
terday  is  already  under  the  glamour  of  the  past,  and  its 
contemplation  'sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought.' 
It  has  gone  to  that  weird,  dim  region — dim  as  if  lighted  by 
a  sun  shorn  of  its  beams — a  region  not  of  shadows  but  of 
realities — where  lie  all  our  griefs,  and  all  our  joys,  now 
changed  to  griefs,  where  they  rest  immutable,  indestructi 
ble,  immortal — 

"  'Not  Heaven  itself  upon  the  past  hath  power,' 


Mr.  Quid's  Accident  471 

And  all  have  left  behind  them  here,  in  common,  trivial 
things,  in  sights  or  sounds  or  odors,  spells  by  which  they 
may  be  called,  like  spirits,  from  the  vasty  deep,  and  made 
to  come  and  possess  us  with  their  primal  force:  the  very 
fountains  of  grief  may  be  opened,  and  made  to  flow  afresh, 
by  a  lowering  winter  sky,  or  a  strain,  of  music,  or  by  the 
wafted  fragrance  of  a  flower. 

"What  I  now  most  love  to  recall  are  the  religious  lessons 
learned  at  my  mother's  knee.  She  was  a  devout  Church- 
woman.  Prayers  morning  and  night,  read  from  the  Book 
of  Common  Prayer,  were  never  omitted  at  our  house.  At 
tendance  at  church,  on  Sunday  and  the  holy  days  of  the 
Church,  was  imperative.  We  went  also,  at  stated  times,  to 
be  examined  in  the  creed  and  catechism.  That  was  the 
church  in  which  your  maternal  great-grandfather  preached, 
and  where  he  took  tithes.  Should  you  go  there,  look  in 
the  parish  record,  and  you  will  see  your  name  and  mine 
among  the  vestrymen,  in  more  than  one  generation.  You 
will  see  the  handwriting  of  other  John  Digbys  and  other 
Eobert  Quids,  Christ's  faithful  soldiers  in  the  dim  past. 

"  'The  knights  are  dust, 
Their  swords  are  rust. 
Their  souls  are  with  the  saints,  we  trust.' 

I  was  baptized  in  that  church,  and  confirmed  there,  and 
made  a  member  of  Christ's  Holy  Catholic  Church.  Higher 
than  all  worldly  honors,  all  knighting  and  ennobling  by 
earthly  monarchs,  do  I  hold  the  rank  I  got  at  that  altar, 
when  I  was  signed  with  the  sign  of  the  Cross,  in  token 
that  I  should  not  be  'ashamed  to  confess  the  faith  of  Christ 
crucified,  and  manfully  to  fight  under  His  banner,  against 
sin,  the  world  and  the  devil,  and  to  continue  Christ's  faith 
ful  soldier  and  servant  unto  my  life's  end.'  God  help  me !  I 
may  have  lost  discipline,  forgetting  that  we  are  always 
in  the  face  of  the  enemy.  I  may  even  have  slept  upon  my 
post,  but  I  have  never  deserted  that  banner,  and  'there 
is  no  discharge  in  that  war/  And  I  defy  any  human  power 
to  cashier  me  or  in  any  manner  to  dismiss  me  from  that 
service." 
Here  Ould  rose  and  went  on  his  crutch  across  the  room 


472  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

and  back,  and  while  John  D.  was  puzzling  over  his  excited 
manner,  he  said:  "You  must  know  that  my  old  friend 
Bond,  who  has  a  strong  leaven  of  Puritanism  in  him,  was 
here  to  see  me  a  while  ago,  and  undertook  to  lecture  me 
upon  what  he  calls  my  gross  irregularities,  and  covertly  to 
threaten  me  with  ecclesiastical  vengeance.  Bah  !  he  doesn't 
know  what  he  is  talking  about.  I  offend,  as  he  has  doubt 
less  heard,  some  of  the  constituted  authorities,  by  criticism 
of  part  of  the  prescribed  services  and  one  of  the  rubrics. 
These  are  indisputably  open  to  criticism  and  amendment. 
Why,  for  instance,  should  we  pray  with  such  fulsomeness 
for  the  President  of  the  United  States  and  all  others  in 
authority?  Are  not  all  men  equal  before  the  altar  of 
God?  This  prayer  was  taken  from  a  bad  precedent  in  a 
monarchy,  where  men  in  authority  are  exalted  above  their 
fellow-men,  even  in  the  temple  of  God. 

"But  there  is  a  worse  thing  than  that."  Here  he  took 
the  prayer-book  from  the  table,  saying,  "Here  is  an  epit 
ome  of  the  Bible.  It  would  not  be  irreverent  to  say,  that 
if  the  Bible  were  lost  this  book  might  take  its  place."  Then, 
opening  it  at  the  office  for  the  burial  of  the  dead,  he  con 
tinued,  "Here  is  a  mosaic  made  up  of  jewels  from  Scrip 
ture.  Listen  to  these  words."  Then  he  read  aloud,  with  a 
strong  mellifluous  voice :  "  'I  am  the  resurrection  and 
the  life,'  saith  the  Lord;  Tie  that  believeth  in  me,  though 
he  were  dead  yet  shall  he  live;  and  he  that  liveth  and  be 
lieveth  in  me  shall  never  die.' 

"What  marvelous  words  are  these!  They  stir  us  like 
some  divine  triumphal  march.  They  hush  the  sobs  of 
mourning  friends ;  they  still  the  throbbing  of  bereft  hearts, 
lifting  the  soul  above  all  earthly  interests,  and  giving  it  a 
thrill  of  exaltation  even  at  the  portals  of  the  tomb ;  a  fore 
taste,  perhaps,  of  what  may  be  its  state  beyond  the  grave. 
And  these  other  last  words,  so  full  of  heavenly  beauty  and 
divine  tenderness:  'I  heard  a  voice  from  heaven  saying 
unto  me,  "Write,  from  henceforth  blessed  are  the  dead  that 
die  in  the  Lord;  even  so  saith  the  Spirit,  for  they  rest 
from  their  labors !"  '  These  seem  to  me  always  as  if  blown 
from  a  silver  trumpet  in  the  sky. 

''Consider  this  whole  office,  how  free  it  is  fronx  all  human 


Mr.  Quid's  Accident  473 

emotion;  purified  as  in  some  divine  alembic,  leaving  noth 
ing  but  the  solemn  lesson  and  the  divine  truth  it  was  in 
tended  to  teach ;  suited  to  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men ; 
fit  for  sinner  as  for  saint,  for  Dives  as  for  Lazarus,  for  the 
beggar  as  for  the  king — broad  as  humanity  itself.  Now,  at 
the  head  of  this  stands  the  following  rubric:  "The  office 
ensuing  is  not  to  be  used  for  any  unbaptized  adults;  nor 
any  who  die  excommunicate  or  who  have  laid  violent  hands 
on  themselves.' 

"Where  is  there  authority  for  such  a  rubric  as  this?  It 
was  an  audacious  hand  that  placed  it  at  the  head  of  this 
divine  ritual.  What!  shall  man  dare  to  judge  the  dead? 
Think  of  it!  When  the  soul  has  gone  to  its  Maker,  shall 
man  anticipate  the  Divine  judgment,  and  execute  it  in  his 
low,  weak  way,  by  treating  with  opprobrium  the  empty 
shell  left  behind  ?  No,  no,  no ;  a  thousand  times  no  !  The 
Church  should  leave  that  to  the  sects.  I  once  heard  a 
sectarian  preacher  tell  the  sorrowing  sisters  of  a  dead  youth, 
whose  body  lay  in  a  coffin  before  them,  'He  is  DAMNED!' 
closing  his  book  with  a  snap,  and  his  discourse  with  this 
citation,  'In  the  place  where  the  tree  falls,  there  it  shall  lie.' 
I  wondered  that  some  of  them  did  not  answer,  in  the  spirit 
of  the  frantic  brother  in  the  play, 

"  'I  tell  thee,  churlish  priest, 
A  ministering  angel  shall  my  brother  be, 
When  thou  liest  howling/ 

"If  I  had  died  when  I  threw  myself  from  the  window, 
they  would  have  adjudged  me  a  suicide,  and,  according  to 
this  rubric,  I  should  have  been  buried  with  maimed  rites, 
or  with  no  rites  at  all,  when  self-destruction  was  never 
in  my  mind.  Never!  Never!"  he  added  with  emphasis, 
seeing  a  look  of  surprise  on  John  D.'s  face.  "Some  day  I 
will  tell  you  the  whole  story;  not  now,  because  I  am  not 
in  the  mood,  and  because  there  is  something  grotesque  in 
it,  unsuited  to  our  present  theme.  Some  day,  when  I  am 
stronger,  you  shall  hear  it  all. 

"Talk  about  putting  me  out  of  the  pale  of  Christ's  Holy 
Church !  It  is  my  Father's  house,  from  which  no  man  can 
expel  me,  Why,  look  you,  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  beauties 


474  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

of  the  Church  that  whomsoever  she  has  gathered  within 
her  fold  is  there  always.  She  does  not  abandon  her  stray 
ing  sheep;  no,  not  one  of  them.  If  they  wander  and  fall 
into  the  mire,  she  takes  them  tenderly  out;  wiping  away 
the  filthy  ooze,  and  restoring  them  to  the  fold.  And  this 
she  does  again  and  again,  never  wearying,  and  thinking 
more  of  one  poor  estray  than  of  all  the  rest  of  the  flock.  I 
will  fight  with  them  on  this  theme — " 

Here  the  talk  was  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  visitors. 
John  D.  took  his  leave,  Mr.  Ould  bidding  him  come  again 
soon. 


CHAPTEK  XLVIII 

A  STUDY  IN  PSYCHOLOGY 

"Mere  puppets  they,  who  come  and  go 

At  bidding  of  vast  formless  things 
That  shift  the  scenery  to  and  fro, 

Flapping  from  out  their  condor  wings 
Invisible  woe." 

ONE  fine  morning  John  D.  again  visited  Mr.  Ould  at  his 
room.  He  found  him  sitting  in  an  arm-chair  by  the  side 
of  his  bed,  his  crutch  near  at  hand.  He  was  clean-shaven, 
his  hair  carefully  dressed,  and  his  linen  fresh  from  the 
laundry.  His  eyes  were  bright,  his  look  cheerful,  and  his 
face  broke  into  a  broad  smile  as  John  D.  entered.  He 
gave  him  a  cordial  grasp  of  the  hand,  and  John  D.  per 
ceived  that  the  hand  was  cool,  and  the  fingers  long  and 
slender,  a  thing  he  had  not  observed  before. 

"Sit  down,  John  D.,  sit  down,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "I 
am  now  going  to  give  you  some  of  my  experience  as  a 
drunkard,  and  tell  you  how  I  came  to  jump  out  of  the 
window.  When  I  have  done,  you  will  have  material  for 
psychological  study  that  has  puzzled  my  poor  brain  for 
many  an  hour.  I  must  go  into  it  as  I  do  into  a  cold  bath — 
with  a  plunge ;  and  now  for  it : 

"I  was  lying,  that  fatal  afternoon,  in  my  bedroom  at  the 
tavern,  in  the  upper  story,  where  you  used  to  visit  me.  I 
was  in  that  nervous  state  in  which  a  man  is  apt  to  find  him 
self  after  a  long  debauch;  but  I  was  not  conscious  of  my 
real  condition,  until  I  saw  a  rat  running  over  the  floor. 
Then  I  began  to  suspect  that  I  was  on  the  eve  of  an  attack 
of  mania.  Presently  I  saw  a  group  of  rats,  standing  apart 
on  their  hind  legs,  staring  with  their  black-bead  eyes,  and 
sniffing,  and  putting  their  heads  together,  as  if  in  consulta 
tion.  Soon  a  multitude  of  rats,  that  seemed  to  rise  out 
of  the  floor,  began  to  pass  over  the  bed  where  I  Jay ;  going 

475 


476  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

in  a  broad,  gray  band  across  my  legs,  and  down  to  the  floor ; 
and  then  straight  up  the  face  of  the  door  to  the  open  tran 
som,  and  thence  out  into  the  hall  beyond.  The  stream 
seemed  endless.  Sights  like  this  were  not  new  to  me.  I 
was  conscious  that  it  was  an  illusion,  and  turned  my  face 
away,  and  closed  my  eyes  for  a  time,  and  when  I  looked 
again  they  were  gone. 

"Soon  after  I  heard  a  noise  on  the  floor,  beyond  the 
foot  of  my  bed,  like  the  tread  of  some  four-footed  animal ; 
and  presently  I  saw  climbing  upon  my  washstand  a  hair 
less,  red  monkey — not  a  hair  even  on  its  long  tail,  which 
it  carried  in  a  dainty  way,  high  in  the  air,  and  curled  into 
a  small  circle  at  the  end.  Looking  carefully  I  saw  that  it 
seemed  raw  all  over,  and  had  the  appearance  of  having 
just  been  flayed  alive,  and  its  eyes  were  as  red  as  berries. 
It  climbed  slowly  to  the  top  of  the  washstand,  and  thence 
on  to  the  top  of  the  pitcher  and  coiled  its  tail  about  this, 
and  sat  down.  Then  I  saw  that  it  held  in  its  hand  pieces 
of  money,  which  it  proceeded  to  count  from  one  hand  to 
the  other,  and  back  again.  I  observed  that  it  had  just  nine 
pieces.  Then  I  closed  my  eyes  and  turned  away.  Pretty 
soon  I  heard  the  same  noise  upon  the  floor  as  before,  and 
looking  toward  the  washstand  I  saw  the  creature  again 
climb  upon  it,  and  thence  on  to  the  pitcher,  and  sit  down, 
and  count  the  pieces  of  money  back  and  forth,  as  before. 
Again  I  shut  my  eyes  and  turned  away,  conscious  of  the 
illusion  and  rallying  all  my  mental  force  to  dispel  it.  After 
some  time,  opening  my  eyes  and  finding  it  gone,  I  got  up 
and  walked  out  and  down  into  the  street.  But  meeting 
there  some  persons  who  stared  at  me  in  a  way  that  excited 
in  me  a  strange,  vague  apprehension,  I  hurried  back  to  my 
room,  where  I  opened  all  the  windows  for  the  free  ad 
mission  of  light  and  air,  and  lay  down  again  upon  the  bed. 

"It  was  not  long  before  I  was  roused  by  a  whisper  right 
above  me,  uttering  these  words,  'I  am  the  Lime  cure !  I 
am  the  Lime  cure!'  and  saw,  suspended  horizontally  over 
me,  a  large  object  in  human  form,  robed  in  fleecy  garments, 
snow-white  and  as  light  as  thistledown,  which  it  made  to 
quiver  as  a  fowl  does  its  feather?,  shaking  down  upon  me 
a  cloud  of  powdered  quicklime,  I  could  see,  indistinctly,  a 


A  Study  in  Psychology  477 

shadowy  face,  the  features  of  which  were  white,  even  the 
eyes  being  of  a  glassy  whiteness.  At  regular  intervals  it 
uttered  the  same  words,  'I  am  the  Lime  cure !  I  am  the 
Lime  cure!'  and,  inflating  its  cheeks,  and  blowing  from 
its  mouth,  and  quivering  its  fleecy  vestments,  showered 
upon  me  volumes  of  quicklime,  by  which  I  was  almost  suf 
focated.  I  was  fast  losing  all  power  to  treat  this  as  an  illu 
sion,  the  sense  of  suffocation  was  so  distinct  and  painful. 
But  I  summoned  all  my  strength  of  will,  and  turned  over 
upon  my  face,  and  forced  my  mind  away  into  other  chan 
nels  of  thought,  and,  after  I  know  not  how  long  a  time,  I 
looked  up  and  it  was  gone. 

"I  lay  for  some  time  after  this  thinking  of  these  illu 
sions,  all  efforts  to  exclude  them  from  my  mind  proving 
unavailing.  I  felt  myself  sinking  into  a  state  of  helpless 
ness,  and  kept  my  eyes  resolutely  closed  for  a  long  time. 

"Suddenly  there  came  from  away  in  the  street  below  a 
shrill  whisper,  shrill  as  the  hissing  of  steam  through  lips  of 
steel,  'I  am  coming,  I  am  coming!'  and,  on  the  instant, 
there  stood  before  me — God  of  heaven,  have  mercy  I" 

He  rose,  holding  by  the  bedpost,  his  face  as  pale  as  a 
stone,  and  beads  of  sweat  standing  on  his  forehead.  John 
D.,  moved  by  this  extraordinary  exhibition  of  feeling,  went 
near  him,  saying,  "Never  mind,  Mr.  Ould,  say  no  more; 
it  is  too  painful  to  you."  But  Ould  gently  waved  him  off, 
and  turning  away  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  After 
an  interval  of  silence,  speaking  in  a  low  tone  and  slowly, 
he  said,  "I  find  myself  incapable  of  telling  you  all  of  this 
business.  When  I  have  heard  that  hiss  below  in  the  street, 
I  have  sprung  from  my  bed  across  the  room;  but  never 
quickly  enough." 

"Well,  Mr.  Ould,"  said  John  D.,  seeing  how  pale  and 
agitated  he  was,  and  how  changed  from  the  bright,  cheerful 
man  he  was  before,  "do  not  talk  of  these  things  any  more. 
Let  us  talk  of  something  else." 

"No,  no;  I  have  one  thing  more  to  tell  you,  and  then 
the  subject  may  rest  forever.  I  want  to  tell  you  how  I 
came  to  throw  myself  out  of  the  window."  He  paused  for 
a  few  moments,  apparently  struggling  for  composure,  and 
then  resumed : 


478  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"I  found  myself  after  that — that — THING — I  could  not 
describe,  lying  on  the  sofa  in  my  sitting-room,  unconscious 
how  I  got  there,  prostrated,  all  spirit  of  resistance  gone  out 
of  me,  humbly  praying  for  relief,  even  by  death,  from  my 
sufferings,  when  I  heard  a  light  rapping  at  my  door.  I 
said  'Come  in/  when  it  opened  slowly,  and  there  walked 
into  the  room,  the  door  closing  noiselessly  behind  him,  a 
little,  old  gentleman  hardly  more  than  a  foot  high !  He 
had  high,  clear-cut  features,  like  the  Duke  of  Wellington's. 
His  face  was  seamed  and  grained  with  wrinkles,  and  had 
that  leathery,  russet  complexion  which  belongs  only  to  ex 
treme  old  age.  His  eyes  were  very  light-colored,  and  shone 
with  metallic  lustre.  He  was  clad  in  a  dark  crimson  velvet 
coat  trimmed  with  gold  lace,  short  breeches  of  velvet,  and 
gold-colored  silk  stockings  !  On  his  knees  and  on  his  shoes 
were  broad  buckles  studded  with  garnets.  His  wristbands 
were  of  white  lace,  and  on  his  bosom  was  a  frill  of  the 
same  material.  He  wore  a  cocked  hat,  and  beneath  this  a 
tie-wig  of  glistening  white  hair.  A  small  sword  with 
jeweled  hilt  hung  by  his  side,  and  in  his  hand  he  carried 
a  little  cinnamon-colored  cane  ornamented  with  ivory  and 
gold.  It  was  with  this  I  thought  he  had  made  that  light 
rapping  at  my  door.  I  felt  no  surprise,  but  looked  upon 
this  visitor  as  natural  and  a  matter  of  course,  as  we  do 
upon  strange  objects  in  dreams. 

"He  did  not  speak,  but,  fixing  his  eyes  on  mine,  ad 
vanced  slowly  with  little,  stately  steps,  smiling  and  bowing; 
smiling  with  an  expression  indescribably  sweet,  and,  to  me, 
in  such  helpless  plight,  simply  enchanting!  Slowly,  step 
by  step,  he  approached  me,  keeping  his  bright  eyes  fastened 
upon  mine;  bowing  and  smiling,  until  I  found  myself 
bowing  and  smiling  in  return,  and  trying  to  copy  his 
charming  manner.  When  he  came  near  I  rose  to  receive 
him.  He  quickly  stretched  up  his  hand,  and  taking  me  by 
one  finger,  led  me  to  the  open  window,  and  smiling  on  me 
in  a  still  more  benignant  manner,  whispered,  'Jump  V  and 
I  sprang  out  of  the  window. 

"Good-by,  John  D.  I  must  be  alone  now;  but  come 
again  soon.  Keep  this  revelation  to  yourself:  and  let  us 
never  recur  to  it."  And  John  D.  went  away. 


CHAPTER  XLIX 
DICK  THORNTON'S  LOVE  AFFAIR 

"Loving  goes  by  haps, 
Some  Cupid  kills  with  arrows,  some  with  traps." 

BEFORE  John  D.  went  away  to  college,  Ould  and  he  had 
many  confidential  talks,  in  the  course  of  which  the  lawyer 
related  something  of  the  history  of  Dick  Thornton,  of 
whom,  -until  his  recent  return,  except  that  he  was  reputed 
to  be  rich  and  was  a  confirmed  old  bachelor,  the  lad  knew 
little.  "Dick  had  two  love  affairs  here,"  said  Ould.  "In 
the  first  the  love  was  all  on  one  side,  and  the  lady  did  all 
the  wooing.  The  youngest  Miss  Spring,  then  the  only  re 
maining  spinster  of  six  sisters,  took  it  into  her  head  to 
marry  him.  Five  sisters  before  had  each  selected  her  man 
and  married  him,  and  they  seemed  to  have  among  them 
the  fixed  opinion  that  they  could  marry  any  man  they 
chose,  if  only  they  set  about  it  in  the  right  way.  They 
did  not  seek  ambitious  matches.  Though  themselves  in 
the  very  froth  and  foam  of  fashion,  submitting  to  any  pri 
vation  and  discomfort  at  home  to  keep  this  place,  they  did 
not  look  there  for  mates.  Experience  with  a  shiftless  hus 
band  and  father  had  taught  mother  and  daughters  a  lesson, 
and  imparted  to  their  ideas  of  marriage  a  savor  of  the  but 
tery  hatch  and  the  'creature  comforts.'  With  wonderful 
practicality  they  sought  such  men  as  were  noted  for  indus 
try  and  devotion  to  business — likely  to  prosper  and  prove, 
what  the  mother  especially  valued,  'good  providers.'  Men 
of  this  steady  quality  are  apt  to  be  shy,  and  not  knowing 
in  the  ways  of  women  of  fashion,  and  easily  captivated  by 
their  arts.  The  one  remaining  spinster,  thinking  Dick  to 
be  in  this  class,  set  out  to  capture  him.  But  Dick  never 
fancied  her.  She  had  all  the  vivacity,  and  tact,  and  gift 

479 


480  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

of  speech  common  to  the  women  of  that  family,  with  fine 
eyes  and  teeth,  and  a  graceful  figure;  but  she  had  a  short, 
upturned  nose  with  conspicuous  nostrils,  a  general  con 
cavity  of  face  and  feature,  and  a  heavy  protruding  jaw;  a 
conformation  that  in  old  age  always  assumes  the  expres 
sion  of  a  death's  head.  The  French  have  a  name  for  this 
kind  of  face,  which  I  forget.  She  was  very  demonstrative, 
and  even  aggressive,  in  her  pursuit  of  Dick;  so  much  so 
that  everybody  else,  and  at  last  Dick  himself,  saw  it.  This, 
of  course,  increased  his  disinclination  toward  her,  and  when 
she  persevered,  bantering  herself  openly  everywhere  about 
him,  and  contriving  to  make  him  seem  her  regular,  cus 
tomary  beau,  he  was  filled  with  disgust,  and  sedulously 
avoided  her.  This  brought  on  a  crisis,  when  she  went  down 
to  his  office  at  Digby's  warehouse,  accompanied  by  her 
brother,  and,  leaving  him  on  the  outside,  invaded  Dick's 
business  sanctum  for  a  private  interview.  Of  course,  he 
never  revealed  the  particulars  of  that  interview,  but  it  was 
known  that  she  went  away  in  wrath,  and  in  tears,  and  had 
well-nigh  brought  about  a  scandal.  This  put  an  end  to 
the  affair  between  them. 

"A  short  time  after  this  occurrence,  Dick  and  Mclntyre 
discovered  that  small  sums  of  money  were,  in  some  mys 
terious  way,  abstracted  from  the  drawer  of  the  desk  in 
their  counting-room;  and  it  was  observed  that  these  pecu 
lations  occurred  always  on  Saturday  nights,  when  there  re 
mained  money  left  after  paying  off  the  teamstery  em 
ployed  during  the  week.  As  the  aggregate  of  these  petty 
thefts,  if  not  checked,  would  soon  amount  to  a  considerable 
sum,  the  partners  resolved  to  keep  watch  and  endeavor  to 
catch  the  rogue.  Accordingly,  on  a  Saturday  night,  having 
shut  up  a  lighted  lantern  in  a  closet  of  the  counting-room, 
they  lay  in  wait  there  for  his  coming.  Dick  was  armed 
with  a  stout  hickory  stick,  and  Mclntyre  with  his  grand 
father's  broadsword.  They  had  watched  for  some  time  in 
the  dark,  when  a  noise  was  heard  in  the  cellar  beneath  them 
and  soon  after  the  tread  of  some  one  mounting  the  stair 
way.  Mclntyre  quickly  took  post  by  the  side  of  the  door, 
broadsword  in  hand,  while  Dick  placed  himself  by  the 
closet,  ready  to  throw  open  the  door  and  admit  the  light, 


Dick  Thornton's  Love  Affair 

when  the  rogue  should  appear.  In  the  next  moment  a  man 
advanced,  walking  confidently  to  the  door  of  the  counting- 
room,  when  the  closet  door  was  thrown  open,  revealing  him. 
Instantly  he  started  backward,  avoiding  the  swing  of  Me- 
Intyre's  broadsword,  and  ran  away  in  the  dark.  But  Dick 
promptly  pursued  him  with  the  lantern,  and,  Mclntyre  fol 
lowing,  they  captured  him  in  the  cellar;  and  holding  the 
lantern  to  his  face  revealed  young  Spring,  the  brother  of 
Dick's  persevering  lady-love.  He  begged  like  a  craven, 
looking  with  alarm  at  the  great  shining  blade  in  the  hand 
of  Mclntyre.  After  much  parleying,  Mclntyre  being 
strongly  inclined  to  bring  him  to  justice,  Dick  interceded 
for  him,  and  under  solemn  promises  of  amendment  he  was 
dismissed.  He  had  entered  by  removing  a  loose  grating  in 
the  cellar  window,  and  opened  the  drawer  by  a  skeleton 
key,  which  he  surrendered. 

"In  the  course  of  this  year,  late  in  the  fall,  there  came 
on  a  visit  to  The  Falls  a  belle  from  Virginia — a  near  rela 
tive  of  our  little  Barbara,  a  half  sister  of  her  mother,  and 
remotely  connected  with  several  of  the  leading  Virginia 
families  here.  Her  fame  had  preceded  her.  Among  other 
things  reported  of  her  career  as  a  belle,  it  was  said  that 
more  than  one  duel  had  been  fought  on  her  account — a 
thing  that  always  argues  either  savagery  on  the  part  of 
the  men  concerned,  or  dishonesty  or  treachery  on  the  part  of 
the  woman.  Perhaps  this  set  me  against  her  from  the 
beginning,  for  I  never  liked  her.  She  had  many  elements 
of  beauty :  a  slender,  lithe  figure,  supple  and  graceful,  and 
beautiful  hair  and  teeth,  but  with  small,  black,  pagan  eyes 
— misty  and  inscrutable — which  I  always  distrusted.  Yet 
she  seemed  to  captivate  everybody  that  came  near  her. 
Dick  had  never  been  anything  of  a  lady's  man,  and  was 
now  more  shy  than  ever,  from  his  recent  experience ;  but  as 
she  was  a  connection  of  the  family,  he  went  to  see  her  as 
a  matter  of  duty.  She  had  a  sweet,  retiring  manner,  and 
withal  a  certain  frankness,  just  suited  to  his  taste.  She 
called  him  cousin  and  upon  .the  whole  greatly  pleased  him. 
He  repeated  his  visits  at  shorter  and  shorter  intervals,  and 
was  soon  on  more  intimate  terms  with  her  than  he  had  ever 
been  with  any  marriageable  young  woman.  It  was  not  long 


482  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

till  he  found  himself  dead  in  love  with  her.  Then  he 
gave  her  a  great  deal  of  attention,  not,  however,  neglecting 
his  business.  Nothing,  not  even  love,  could  bring  Dick 
to  that.  But  he  worked  himself  half  to  death  in  the  busy 
season,  that  he  might  find  time  to  be  with  her.  Then  they 
were  engaged  to  be  married,  with  a  strict  injunction  upon 
Dick  to  keep  the  engagement  secret. 

"Meantime,  she  led  a  large  band  of  similar  captives  in 
her  train.  Dick  had  only  fallen  into  a  snare  that  was 
spread  for  everybody.  Even  Mclntyre,  cautious,  circum 
spect,  suspicious  as  he  is,  did  not  escape  her  toils.  For 
months  these  two  men,  friends  and  constantly  associated, 
and  partners  in  trade,  each  considered  himself  the  affianced 
of  this  accomplished  coquette;  and  neither  had  a  suspicion 
of  the  other.  Both  were  bound  in  honor  to  implicit  silence 
and  both  kept  their  honor  inviolate. 

"In  this  state  things  continued  the  whole  winter.  The 
spring  was  near  at  hand,  and  Dick's  lady-love  was  talking 
of  going  back  to  Virginia,  whither  in  due  time  he  was 
to  follow  her,  when  finding  it  necessary,  in  the  pursuit  of 
business,  to  go  away  from  the  town  for  a  while,  he  was 
anxious  to  have  with  her  a  private  interview.  She  had 
been  hospitably  entertained,  after  the  fashion  of  The  Falls, 
by  many  families,  and  was  now  the  guest  of  Mr.  Dennis 
Fitzhugh.  This  circumstance  was  in  all  respects  agreeable 
to  Dick,  he  being  on  intimate  terms  with  that  family,  and 
the  extensive  ornamental  grounds,  with  fruit  and  flower 
gardens,  and  lawn  and  shrubberies,  affording  ample  scope 
for  the  delightful  loiterings  which  he  promised  himself 
there  with  his  sweetheart.  He  was  now  anxious  for  a 
private  interview,  not  only  from  the  lover's  ordinary  mo 
tive,  but  because  a  sudden  intimacy  had  sprung  up  between 
Miss  Spring  and  his  sweetheart,  and  she  had  accepted  an 
invitation  to  pass  some  time  as  Miss  Spring's  guest  before 
going  back  to  Virginia.  This  arrangement  was  very  dis 
tasteful  to  him,  and  he  had  been  revolving  in  his  mind  a 
scheme  for  breaking  it  off  without  revealing  either  his 
former  connection  with  the  lady  or  the  disgraceful  conduct 
of  her  brother.  Still  revolving  this  scheme,  he  walked 
along  the  gravel  road  to  the  Fitzhugh  mansion.  Having 


Dick  Thornton's  Love  Affair  483 

sounded  the  brazen  knocker,  he  walked  back  a  few  steps 
on  the  veranda,  and  chancing  to  look  toward  the  parlor 
window,  he  saw  hastily  retreating  from  it  a  lady  in  her 
bonnet,  whom  he  recognized  as  Miss  Spring.  Desiring  to 
avoid  her,  and  availing  himself  of  his  intimacy  with  the 
household,  when  the  servant  announced  his  sweetheart  as 
not  at  home,  he  went  into  a  small  reception-room  adjoin 
ing  the  parlor,  to  await  there  the  departure  of  Miss  Spring 
and  the  return  of  his  lady-love. 

"While  sitting  in  this  room,  still  revolving  the  unpleas 
ant  prospect  of  having  her  in  the  house  of  the  enemy,  she 
came  home,  and  he  heard  Miss  Spring,  who  seemed  to  have 
been  on  the  watch,  meet  her  at  the  door,  where  they  at  once 
engaged  m  lively  chatter.  Then  they  entered  the  parlor, 
when  Dick  could  easily  hear  all  they  said,  and  the  first 
word  he  heard  was  his  own  name.  It  is  not  in  human  na 
ture — at  least  it  was  not  in  Dick's  human  nature — to  make 
any  outcry  at  this,  and  he  quickly  heard  enough  to  put  him 
to  the  torture.  The  heartless  coquette  was  entertaining  her 
new  intimate  with  an  enumeration  and  a  classification  of 
the  victims  of  her  wiles.  He  opened  his  eyes  wide  when 
she  put  in  the  list  Mclntyre.  'I  had  too  many  on  my  hands 
for  convenience/  she  said;  'it  was  a  veritable  " embarrasse 
de  richesse,"  and  I  resolved  to  get  rid  of  one.  Besides, 
there  were  conflicting  elements  in  the  case.  Think  of  my 
having  two  men,  partners  in  business — a  whole  firm — dan 
gling  at  the  same  time!  So  last  night  I  dismissed  the 
Irishman.' 

"Miss  Spring  made  a  great  exclamation,  and  then  said, 
'He  has  such  a  good  opinion  of  himself,  he  must  have  been 
greatly  surprised/ 

"  'Surprised  ?  Bless  you,  he  was  astounded !'  Then  she 
laughed  vehemently,  and  as  she  recovered  herself  said,  'You 
ought  to  have  seen  his  face.'  And  then  she  renewed  her 
laughter. 

"  'People  say  he  is  rich/  said  Miss  Spring  meditatively, 
'and  he  has  many  accomplishments.  Do  you  object  to  him 
as  an  Irishman?' 

"  'No:  I  have  no  national  prejudices;  and  yet — I  would 
he  were  less  Irish  and  more  nice/ 


484  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"Miss  Spring  laughed  delightful  applause  at  this  false 
wit,  and  then  asked,  in  an  affected  tender  tone,  'Well,  what 
are  vou  going  to  do  with  Mr.  Thornton — "Cousin  Rich 
ard""?' 

"At  intervals  during  this  interesting  colloquy,  Dick  had 
meditated  a  cough,  but  the  revelation  about  Melntyre  had 
taken  away  his  breath ;  and  now  what  man  will  blame  him 
for  wanting  to  know  in  what  predicament  he  himself  stood  ? 
Exactly  what  he  did  hear  I  never  knew,  but  enough  to  set 
him  wild !  The  young  women  soon  went  out  to  walk  over 
the  grounds,  and  Dick  quietly  slipped  away  out  of  the 
house. 

"Long  after  he  told  me  that  he  had  observed  Mclntyre, 
on  the  morning  after  he  had  been  dismissed  as  the  lady 
described,  looking  woful  in  such  a  degree  that  he  thought 
he  must  be  ill,  and  asked  him  what  was  the  matter,  when 
he  answered,  'I  am  cutting  a  wisdom  tooth.'  A  grirn  joke 
which  Dick  did  not  then  understand.  Mclntyre  soon  re 
covered,  but  Dick  never  has.  He  will  never  put  faith  in 
woman  again. 

"But  he  resolved  to  have  a  last  word  with  the  lady,  and 
to  this  end  went  on  the  night  of  the  same  day  to  see  her. 
He  went  late  that  he  might  have  her  alone.  Indeed,  I  be 
lieve  he  played  sentry  before  the  gateway  until  assured 
that  all  other  visitors  had  gone  away.  It  was  late  in  the 
night  when  he  left  the  house.  On  his  way  home  he  met 
a  startling  adventure.  Just  at  the  corner  of  Fitzhugh's 
enclosure,  near  which  an  oil  lamp  was  burning,  he  was 
fired  upon  by  a  person  who  had  stood  concealed  behind  the 
fence.  He  felt  a  shock  as  from  a  blow  on  his  left  side, 
but  instinctively  turned  about,  and  with  a  stout  cane  he 
carried  knocked  down  the  assailant,  and  beat  him  until  he 
lay  apparently  insensible.  Nothing  saved  Dick  but  a  rou 
leau  of  five-franc  pieces  that  lay  in  his  waistcoat  pocket, 
lapping  one  over  another,  from  which  the  ball  glanced, 
tearing  out  the  pocket  and  scattering  the  money  upon  the 
pavement.  It  was  characteristic  of  Dick  that  he  deliberate 
ly  picked  up  all  these  pieces  and  put  them  into  another 
pocket.  Then  he  looked  after  his  assailant,  whom  he  found 
to  be  Spring;  not  dangerously  hurt,  but  with  a  broken 


Dick  Thornton's  Love  Affair  485 

finger  and  same  contusions  on  the  head,  half  stunned,  and 
thoroughly  cowed. 

"Shaking  him  up  roughly,  Dick  took  him  home  with 
him  to  his  room,  where  he  made  a  close  examination  of  his 
person,  and  afterward  subjected  him  to  a  rigid  cross-exami 
nation,  and  wrote  a  statement  from  his  own  lips,  which  he 
required  him  to  sign;  and  then  telling  him  that  he  would 
hold  over  him  that  paper  till  such  time  as  he  should  give 
proof  of  a  reformed  character,  when  it  should  be  surren 
dered  into  Spring's  own  hands,  he  was  sent  away. 

"Spring  was  base  enough  to  implicate  his  sister  in  his 
crime.  Dick  scouted  this  as  incredible,  but  there  were  cir 
cumstances  that  made  him  by  no  means  clear  as  to  this. 
In  his  examination  of  Spring's  person  he  had  found  upon 
him  the  sheath  of  a  highly  ornamented  Spanish  dagger 
which  Dick  had  brought  from  Mexico;  a  gaudy  toy,  all 
gold  and  silver  and  tortoise-shell  and  steel,  kept  always  in 
his  office  among  other  curios.  And  going  back  to  the  scene 
of  the  attempted  assassination,  he  found  the  blade,  which 
had  been  let  fall  by  Spring,  or  was  stricken  from  his  hand 
by  the  shower  of  blows  from  Dick's  cane.  Then  he  re 
membered  that  on  that  occasion  when  the  sister  came  to 
his  office,  she  had  taken  up  the  dagger,  and,  placing  it  at 
her  belt,  said  it  would  make  a  pretty  ornament  worn  'en 
chatelaine.'  He  did  not  know  but  she  might  have  carried 
it  away.  He  had  not  seen  it  since  then,  and  had  not 
missed  it. 

"On  the  day  following,  with  an  indefinite  leave  of  ab 
sence  from  his  partner,  Dick  went  away  to  New  Orleans; 
not  with  any  dream  of  'throwing  away  his  life  upon  the 
Turk/  or  other  romantic  scheme,  such  as  is  common  after 
the  dissipation  of  a  first  enchantment,  but  to  plunge  into 
the  current  of  traffic.  Never  did  he  feel  himself  so  strong 
in  his  vocation  as  now.  Freed  from  the  only  disturbing 
sentiment  that  had  ever  checked  or  diverted  him  from 
the  eager  pursuit  of  business,  he  was  now  like  a  runner 
stripped  for  the  race  and  possessed  of  a  grim,  confident 
spirit  that  defied  fortune. 

"He  had  great  success  at  New  Orleans.  Making  his 
headquarters  at  the  counting-room  of  Jilly,  an  old  friend 


486  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

and  correspondent  of  John  Digby,  he  busied  himself  with 
speculation  in  commodities,  chiefly  at  the  custom-house, 
where  sales  were  made  daily.  The  financial  pressure  was 
beginning  to  be  severely  felt  in  the  market  there,  and  Dick 
was  prompt  to  perceive  that  any  unusual  commodity,  the 
value  of  which  was  not  familiar  to  the  general  market,  was 
sure,  in  cases  of  forced  sales,  to  go  at  a  low  figure.  Such 
sales  were  then  very  frequent  at  the  custom-house,  and  this 
became  his  favorite  place  for  speculation.  He  was  soon 
well  known  to  the  officials  there,  and  one  day  a  clerk  called 
his  attention  to  a  sale  to  be  made  of  an  article  in  his  chosen 
category,  a  very  large  quantity  of  vanilla  beans.  Dick 
knew  nothing  of  vanilla  beans,  but  he  soon  acquainted  him 
self  with  their  market  value,  and  attended  this  sale.  There 
was  no  bid  but  his,  which  was  a  very  low  one,  and  he 
bought  them  all.  He  was  somewhat  taken  aback  when  the 
bill  was  made  out,  amounting  to  ten  thousand  dollars.  But 
he  had  seen  that  the  beans  were  sound,  and  was  soon  more 
than  satisfied  with  the  purchase.  He  went  at  once  to  Jilly's 
for  the  money  to  pay  for  them,  and  while  there  his  old 
correspondent,  Mr.  Vincent  N~olte,  came  in,  looking  for 
him.  'I  learn/  said  this  gentleman,  'that  you  made  a  great 
purchase  of  vanilla  beans  this  morning  at  the  custom 
house;  may  I  ask  what  you  propose  to  do  with  them?' 

"  'I  have  not  made  up  my  mind,  nor  had  time  to  think 
about  it,'  Dick  replied. 

"1  venture  to  say,'  said  Mr.  Nolte,  'that  there  is  but 
one  market  in  the  world  for  such  a  quantity  of  vanillas, 
and  that  is  London.  If  you  will  consign  them  to  my  cor 
respondents  there  I  will  make  you  a  liberal  advance  upon 
them.' 

"To  shorten  my  story,  Nolte  advanced  ten  thousand  dol 
lars  upon  Dick's  purchase,  and  the  beans  were  consigned 
to  the  great  house  of  Baring  Brothers  of  London.  How 
much  money  Dick  made  by  this  marvelous  windfall  I  never 
knew,  for  he  would  never  talk  of  his  business.  It  has  been 
stated  at  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  thousand  dollars;  but 
that  was  mere  conjecture.  That  he  made  a  great  sum  is 
certain. 

"In  the  latter  part  of  the  year  1S25,  when  there  was 


Dick  Thornton's  Love  Affair  487 

a  great  financial  trouble  here  and  through  the  whole  coun 
try,  Dick  made  arrangements  with  Mclntyre  to  look  after 
his  brother  Bob's  interests.  He  pretty  soon  concluded  that 
it  would  be  best  to  let  the  tavern  and  all  his  houses  and 
lots, — in  which  kind  of  property  Dick  took  no  interest, — 
everything  except  his  interest  in  Lastlands  and  in  a  foun 
dry,  go  to  pay  his  debts;  engaging  himself  to  discharge 
any  indebtedness  that  should  remain  after,  and  empowering 
Mclntyre  to  buy  Bob's  interests  in  Lastlands,  and  all  the 
slaves,  in  case  these  should  be  brought  to  the  hammer. 
He  made  other  arrangements  with  Mclntyre,  of  which  I 
know  nothing  except  that  they  were  designed  to  protect 
Bob  and  his  little  household  against  all  contingencies. 
Then  he  went  back  to  New  Orleans  and  thence  to  England. 

"The  partnership  was  continued  only  for  liquidation  for 
several  years  longer,  but  is  now  at  an  end.  They  man 
aged  their  business  with  great  prudence  and  sagacity;  let 
ting  go  at  high  prices  all  their  cotton,  of  which  they  had 
a  great  holding  in  1825,  before  the  decline  which  swamped 
so  many  great  houses  at  New  Orleans,  among  them  that 
of  Thornton's  old  friend,  Vincent  Nolte. 

"Dick  has  visited  America  only  once  since  he  went 
abroad,  but  did  not  come  nearer  Kentucky  than  New  York. 
His  faithless  sweetheart  soon  after  his  departure  went  back 
home,  where  she  was  married  to  a  man  old  enough  to  be 
her  father.  He  died  soon  after,  leaving  her  by  no  means 
so  rich  as  she  might  have  expected,  but  independent  and 
childless.  I  know  from  Stackpole  that  she  and  Dick  were 
once  at  the  same  time  in  Boston.  Stackpole  met  her  in  the 
art  gallery  there,  and  when  this  was  reported  to  Dick  he 
fled  to  Newport.  She  went  afterward  to  Newport,  when 
Dick  fled  to  the  woods  of  Maine,  where  he  passed  the  season 
fishing ;  and  then  he  went  back  to  London.  Stackpole  was 
greatly  amused  at  Dick's  dread  of  meeting  her.  He  thinks 
that  she  is  in  pursuit  of  Dick.  She  contrived  to  see  Stack- 
pole  often  in  Boston,  and  in  Newport,  and  artfully  tried 
to  make  him  believe  that  she  was  attached  to  Dick,  and 
that  her  marriage  was  'un  marriage  au  desespoir.'  But  he 
did  not  tell  this  to  Dick,  as  she  doubtless  intended  he 
should. 


488  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

<cDick  and  Stackpole  are  peripatetic  speculators  about 
the  markets  of  the  world.  Stackpole  is  here  often,  and 
being  fond  of  travel  does  most  of  that  necessary  branch 
of  their  business.  He  has  appeared  here  often  when  not 
expected,  and  may  'come  home/  as  he  expresses  it,  at  any 
time.  When  you  are  in  Boston,  should  the  widow  appear 
there,  you  must  fight  shy  of  her." 


CHAPTER   L 

JOHN  D.  GOES  TO  BOSTON 

"O,  the  joy 

Of  young  Ideas  painted  on  the  mind 
In  the  warm,  glowing  colors  Fancy  spreads 
On  subjects  not  yet  known,  when  all  is  new, 
And  all  is  lovely." 

AFTER  many  taLks  with  Mr.  Ould  and  the  old  master, 
John  D.  resolved  to  set  out  in  the  following  March  for 
Boston;  a  time  seemingly  inopportune,  making  necessary 
a  long  interval — until  the  following  July — when  the  reg 
ular  examinations  would  occur.  His  motive  in  this  case 
cannot  be  stated  with  certainty.  It  was  most  likely  to 
acquaint  himself  with  the  new  environment,  and  carefully 
to  survey  the  ground  before  binding  himself  by  any  en 
gagement  there.  This  plan  would  give  time  to  ascertain 
precisely  the  requirements  of  the  college  and  afford  oppor 
tunity  to  make  a  deliberate  estimate  of  his  own  qualifica 
tions  and  to  make  good  any  deficiency,  thus  giving  some 
assurance  against  failure,  which  would  have  been  to  him  a 
grievous  mortification.  Buttons  thought  he  would  stick 
here,  having  the  sea  at  hand  for  fishing.  After  a  lapse  of 
a  fortnight  a  letter  to  his  father  announced  his  safe  arrival 
at  Cambridge,  and  a  long  letter  to  Mr.  Ould  described  at 
much  length  his  journey  and  its  incidents.  How  for  three 
days  and  nights  he  steamed  up  the  Ohio  to  Wheeling  on  the 
little,  puffing,  high-pressure  boat  crowded  with  passengers. 
How,  arrived  at  Wheeling,  there  was  a  race  of  all  this 
crowd  up  the  hill  from  the  river  to  the  office  to  secure 
seats  in  the  stages  that  were  to  bear  them  over  the  moun 
tains.  How  they  found,  behind  a  strong  wooden  grating, 
the  agent  of  the  stage  line,  quietly  sitting  like  a  spider  in 

489 


490  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

his  web,  secure  of  his  prey,  indifferent  to  the  impatience 
and  clamor  of  the  crowd,  slowly  and  deliberately  taking 
their  money  and  setting  down  their  names  and  destination. 
How  stage  after  stage,  each  a  four-in-hand,  was  driven 
to  the  door  and  names  called  out,  and  stages  loaded  and 
sent  away,  until  the  whole  crowd,  nine  to  a  stage,  had  been 
despatched  with  their  trunks  and  other  baggage ;  the  light 
er  articles  on  top  secured  by  a  canvas  covering,  and  the 
heavier  stowed  away  in  the  "boots" ;  each  stage  with  a  sway 
ing  motion  moving  slowly  away  on  its  three  days'  journey 
on  the  national  road  across  the  mountains.  The  following 
extracts  describe  his  approach  to  the  capital : 

"As  we  approached  Washington  the  number  of  passen 
gers  increased  until  we  had  again  nine  inside,  and  as  we 
neared  the  city  some  outside  passengers.  The  talk  was 
now  altogether  about  Congress  and  its  proceedings,  and 
the  great  men  there.  I  had  great  curiosity  to  hear  of  these, 
and  I  was  gratified  to  a  very  considerable  extent  by  a  red- 
haired  gentleman,  an  incessant  talker  and  full  of  informa 
tion  about  the  capital  and  its  affairs,  having  lived  there 
through  three  or  more  administrations  in  some  public  em 
ployment  and  was  very  knowing  about  the  city  and  Con 
gress.  He  gave  us  lively  sketches  of  the  great  men  in  the 
Senate  and  House  of  Representatives  and  illustrated  their 
style  of  oratory,  reciting  some  of  their  past  speeches,  imi 
tating  their  manner,  all  which  was  very  interesting.  It 
was  plain  that  he  was  a  Democrat,  and  that  Democratic 
orators  were  his  favorites.  While  conceding  to  Mr.  Clay 
the  palm  of  eloquence  be  held  that  he  was  not  the  equal  of 
Mr.  Calhoun  or  Silas  Wright  or  Daniel  Webster,  in  all  re 
spects,  and  that  their  speeches  would  live  long  after  Mr. 
Clay's  were  forgotten.  Among  the  company  in  the  sta^re 
was  an  old  Irishman  who  was  manifestly  a  warm  friend  of 
Mr.  Clay.  Whenever  that  name  was  mentioned  he  would 
say,  'He  it  is  that  tells  thinvoll  about  it.' 

"A  compatriot  of  Mr.  Clay,  I  could  not  help  taking 
part  for  him,  even  against  such  odds  as  this  knowing  man 
with  such  uncommon  gifts  of  speech.  I  said  that  it  was 
a  new  thing  to  me  to  hear  Mr.  Clay  put  second  in  estimat- 


John  D.  Goes  to  Boston  491 

ing  the  public  men  of  the  day ;  that  I  should  like  to  hear 
the  great  men  he  classed  above  Mr.  Clay,  and  I  should  es 
pecially  like  to  hear  them  in  conflict  with  him;  that  I 
should  not  be  afraid  of  finding  Mr.  Clay  an  unequal  match 
for  the  best  of  them,  or  even  for  all  of  them  together.  At 
this  the  eyes  of  the  old  Irishman  glistened,  his  mouth 
spread,  his  head  bobbed  assent,  and  he  said  emphatically, 
'It's  he  that  tells  thim  oil  about  it,' 

"  'Well/  said  the  red-haired  man,  'perhaps  you  are  right. 
Mr.  Clay  does  possess  the  power  of  eloquent  speech  beyond 
any  man  I  have  ever  heard.  But  his  great  power  lies  in 
action,  in  which  you  will  remember  the  Greek  master  said 
eloquence  consists.  But  when  you  read  Mr.  Clay's  speeches 
you  have  not  got  that  element  of  oratory  before  you.  It 
cannot  be  put  in  print.  Why,  the  other  day  in  the  Senate 
he  made  a  speech  in  which  by  four  words  he  electrified  the 
house,  and  set  the  galleries  in  such  a  roar  that  the  Vice- 
President  threatened  to  have  them  cleared  if  that  were  re 
peated.  No  man,  I  believe — not  the  greatest  actor  living — 
could  take  the  speech  and  make  a  point  with  those  four 
words.  Yet  in  his  mouth  they  were  like  a  thunderbolt !  I 
will  not  offer  to  imitate  him  in  this.  No  man  can  do  it. 
And  so,  you  see,  it  is  impossible  that  any  proper  representa 
tion  or  "counterfeit  presentment"  of  Mr.  Clay's  oratory 
can  ever  go  to  posterity.  Some  history  of  the  effects  of  his 
eloquence,  like  this  I  have  given,  may  go  down,  but  it  will 
be  said  that  people  of  our  day  were  unduly  susceptible  to 
this  kind  of  thing,  and  that  if  he  were  alive  now  he  could 
not  move  men  in  this  way ;  that  he  is  great  mainly  by  our 
allowance,  etc.' 

"  'Anny  way/  said  my  Irish  friend  again,  bobbing  his 
head  with  emphasis,  "it's  he  that  tells  thim  oil  about  it.' 

"As  we  neared  the  city  the  talk  abated  and  people  began 
to  look  out  on  the  roadside,  impatient  of  the  slow  coach, 
and  to  busy  themselves  noting  well-known  landmarks,  and 
estimating  the  distance  yet  to  be  gone  over.  When  we 
reached  the  town  the  red-haired  gentleman  kindly  pointed 
out  to  me  places  of  interest,  and  when  we  got  into  the 
city  showed  me  the  house  in  which  Mr.  Clay  lives.  He  also 
gave  me  the  address  of  the  members  of  Congress  from  Ken- 


492  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

tucky,  and  said  he  would  be  glad  to  be  of  any  assistance  to 
me  while  in  the  city,  handing  me  his  own  card.  Truly,  a 
man  endowed  with  uncommonly  agreeable  manners,  and 
a  model  of  politeness.  He  was  a  Virginian. 

"I  went  into  the  'House/  where  I  saw  the  assembled  wis 
dom.  I  met  Mr.  Hardin,  who  talked  a  good  deal  to  me.  I 
believe  he  likes  a  young  auditor,  as  Mr.  Ould  does.  He 
growled  all  the  time  about  the  way  things  were  going  on  in 
Congress,  finding  fault  with  everybody  and  everything,  and 
wishing  himself  out  of  Congress  and  at  home  in  Bardstown. 

"I  saw  Mr.  Clay  in  the  Senate,  and  heard  him  in  a  short 
speech  'tell  thim  oil  about  it/  He  is  easily  the  great  man 
here.  In  the  Senate  Chamber,  on  the  Avenue,  everywhere, 
he  is  the  observed  of  all  observers.  I  did  not  go  to  see  him. 
I  know  that  his  time  is  all  occupied  with  better  things  than 
a  youth  like  me.  And,  besides,  I  have  the  family  modesty 
and  fight  shy  of  great  men. 

"FROM  PROVIDENCE  TO  BOSTON 

"It  was  a  rainy  morning  when  we  set  out  in  the  stage 
from  Providence  for  Boston.  At  a  point  along  the  street 
the  stage  was  stopped  and  some  one  called  out,  Tassengers 
can  take  a  look  at  the  Arcade/  But  as  the  stage  was  closed 
on  all  sides,  only  those  sitting  by  the  window  on  the  middle 
seat  could  avail  themselves  of  the  invitation.  I  was  one 
of  these  and  I  looked  out,  but  in  the  gloom  of  the  rainy 
morning  I  saw  little  of  the  Arcade,  and  cannot  describe  it. 
Afterward  a  man  opposite  to  me,  on  the  front  seat,  mut 
tered  in  rather  coarse  terms  that  'this  thing  of  stopping  the 
stage  to  look  at  the  Arcade  was  a  —  bore/ 

"We  were  nine  passengers  inside,  all  males  except  one, 
a  stout  old  lady  on  the  back  seat.  All  seemed  to  be  stran 
gers  to  each  other,  and  there  was  for  a  long  time  no  talk 
among  them.  At  last  an  Irishman  with  short,  red  hair  and 
blue  eyes,  sitting  on  the  middle  of  the  front  seat,  asked 
me  to  exchange  seats  with  him,  which  I  gladly  did,  when 
he  opened  a  box,  which  he  carried  on  his  lap,  revealing  his 
vocation  as  a  traveling  peddler  of  jewelry,  and  began  to 
ply  his  trade.  The  passengers  showed  no  inclination  to 
buy,  but  only  rigged  and  quizzed  him  for  a  long  time  with- 


John  D.  Goes  to  Boston  493 

out  mercy.  This  he  bore  with  great  meekness.  At  last, 
seeing  that  he  could  not  make  any  sales,  he  quietly  collected 
his  wares,  distributed  for  inspection,  and  locked  them  in 
his  box,  and  then  began  to  turn  the  tables  on  the  company. 
I  was  glad  that  I  had  taken  no  part  against  him,  for  a 
greater  wit  I  never  heard.  The  old  lady  on  the  back  seat 
shook  with  laughter  while  he  quizzed  his  assailants  in  turn, 
and  I  enjoyed  it  very  much.  It  had  the  effect  of  putting 
the  company  on  a  social  footing,  and  general  talk  soon 
began  among  them.  After  a  time  attention  was  directed 
to  me,  and  I  was  questioned  about  myself;  indeed,  I  was 
pumped  to  the  bottom.  They  were  greatly  surprised  to 
learn  that  I  was  from  away  back  in  Kentucky,  going  to 
Harvard  College.  'Did  I  know  Mr.  Clay?' 

"  'Yes ;  I  have  a  bundle  of  letters  of  introduction  from 
him  to  his  friends  in  Boston/  The  old  lady  on  the  back 
seat  was  now  listening  with  great  interest.  We  had  already 
stood  in  a  sort  of  comradeship  while  neutrals  in  the  witty 
imbroglio  with  the  Irish  peddler,  and  had  exchanged 
glances  of  merry  sympathy,  and  she  now  seemed  in  quite 
a  flutter  of  interest  in  me  and  made  many  inquiries  and 
kind  speeches.  Mr.  Clay's  name  had  invested  me  with  new 
interest.  A  young  gentleman  sitting  on  my  left,  whom 
I  had  already  set  down  as  the  only  real  gentleman  in  the 
company,  asked  if  I  had  any  acquaintances  in  Boston;  to 
which  I  answered  no.  Then  he  said  he  should  be  glad  to  be 
of  service  to  me,  and  delicately  asked  the  names  of  some 
of  the  persons  to  whom  I  had  letters.  I  mentioned  such 
names  as  I  remembered,  and  at  last  the  name  of  Dr.  Bow- 
ditch.  At  this  I  observed  that  he  showed  very  great  inter 
est,  quite  as  much  as  others  had  shown  in  Mr.  Clay's  name, 
and  said,  'My  dear  sir,  you  have  splendid  credentials,'  and 
was  evidently  inspired  with  decided  respect  for  me.  'Do 
you  know  Dr.  Bowditch?'  I  asked. 

"  'Oh,  no.  But  I  am  studying  navigation,  and  I  am,  of 
course,  familiar  with  his  name.  I  am  just  now  home  from 
a  cruise  of  six  months,  using  his  books  all  the  time.' 

"My  splendid  credentials  had  made  me  an  object  of 
paramount  interest  to  the  whole  company.  The  man  who 
had  expressed  so  emphatically  his  sentiments  about  the 


494  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

stopping  of  the  stage  before  the  Arcade  now  addressed  to 
me  some  commonplaces,  with  manifest  diffidence,  and  be 
gan  to  adjust  his  cravat,  and  to  preen  himself  generally. 
There  was  a  raffish  look  about  him,  reminding  me  of  people 
described  by  Mr.  Irving  as  wearing  ^belcher  handkerchiefs' 
and  having  been  sworn  at  'High  Gate/  whatever  these  facts 
may  signify.  On  my  asking  aloud  about  the  taverns  in 
the  town,  he  immediately  spoke  out,  recommending  the 
Marlborough ;  at  which  the  young  navigator  shook  his  head 
and  soon  after  recommended  to  me  the  Exchange,  whither 
I  resolved  to  go. 

"The  Irish  peddler  was  an  attentive  listener,  and  now 
asked  me,  'Do  you  happen  to  have  ricommendations  to  anny 
of  the  beg  jewelers  ?'  To  this  I  only  gave  a  negative  shake 
of  my  head. 

"It  was  almost  pitch  dark,  and  still  raining  (storming, 
they  called  it),  when  we  got  into  the  streets  of  the  town, 
and  the  driver,  having  inquired  of  each  passenger's  resi 
dence,  took  them  in  turn  to  their  homes.  When  the  old 
lady  was  about  to  get  out  she  gave  me  her  hand,  saying, 
'You  see  where  I  live.  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  at  any 
and  all  times.'  But  I  could  see  only  a  brick  house  in  a 
long  row  all  alike,  and  I  do  not  expect  to  see  her  again. 
Of  course,  I  am  not  insensible  of  my  indebtedness  to  Mr. 
Clay  and  Dr.  Bowditch  for  the  kind  interest  here  mani 
fested  on  nry  first  entrance  into  Boston.  Still  I  felt  a 
sense  of  satisfaction,  and  regard  it  as  a  forecast  of  a  pleas 
ant  future,  and  I  think  I  shall  always  have  a  warm  place 
in  my  heart  for  a  Boston  man  or  woman/' 

John  D.  had  elected  to  go  to  Harvard  College,  after 
having  heard  from  the  old  master  this  deliberate  estimate 
of  that  institution :  "It  is  not  well  adapted  to  make  prac 
tical  business  men;  but  it  makes  good  men."  Which  Mr. 
Ould  assured  John  D.  was  very  high  commendation. 


CHAPTER   LI 

A  CHARLESTON  CHAPERON 

"But  yet  a  woman:  and  for  secrecy, 
No  lady  closer;  for  I  well  believe 
Thou  wilt  not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know; 
And  so  far  will  I  trust  thee." 

DURING  the  spring  letters  had  been  received  from  Dick 
Thornton,  then  away  looking  after  some  interests  he  and 
Stackpole  had  in  New  England.  Late  in  the  summer  his 
presence  at  Newport,  Rhode  Island,  was  made  known  by 
letters  from  himself,  as  well  as  letters  from  John  D.,  who 
accompanied  him  there.  In  the  letters  of  this  young  gen 
tleman,  now  for  the  first  time  at  Newport,  the  companion 
of  an  admiring,  indulgent,  rich  uncle,  there  did  crop  out 
a  thin  stratum  of  the  vanity  natural  to  youth,  not  hereto 
fore  shown  by  him.  To  read  his  letters  now  was  to  read 
a  record  of  his  triumphal  progress  through  the  many 
phases  of  fashionable  life,  at  the  then  most  delightful  of 
all  the  places  of  summer  resort  along  the  Atlantic  seaboard ; 
where  delegations  from  the  best  of  Northern  and  Southern 
society  came  together ;  where  that  experienced  maiden  lady, 
Miss  W.,  of  Charleston,  chaperoned  the  Southern  young 
women,  and  Mrs.  S.  those  of  Boston,  and  where,  hand  in 
hand,  Massachusetts  and  South  Carolina  stood  around  their 
social  administrations.  Accounts  of  beautiful  maidens 
were  now  the  staple  material  of  John  D.'s  letters.  Even 
the  fishing,  there  so  fine  and  so  full  of  variety,  was  for 
gotten  in  a  seeming  craze  about  these  beauties.  Sometimes 
a  Northern  beauty,  sometimes  a  Southern  beauty,  made 
a  topic  for  a  long  letter,  and  at  last,  in  the  same  letter 
one  of  each;  he  posing  as  a  prince  at  a  loss  which  to 

495 


496  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

choose,  and  quoting  from  a  clever  little  poem  written  by 
one  of  the  Harvard  lads,  circulated  in  manuscript  and 
afterward  printed  in  a  magazine,  these  lines : 

"  'O,  I  would  I  were  a  great  Bashaw, 

And  followed  Mahomet  the  glorious! 
Or  held  the  good  old  Jewish  law, 
With  Solomon,  that  sage  uxorious! 

"  'I'd  fill  my  hall  with  beauties  bright, 
And  queenly  Julia  make  Sultana, 
But  who  should  be  my  "Hearts  delight." 
My  "Harem's  Joy,"  but  lovely  Anna.'  " 

Barbara  had  heretofore  eagerly  read  all  John  D/s  letters, 
taking  them,  after  they  had  been  seen  by  all,  to  her  own 
chamber  for  reperusal  until  she  knew  them  by  heart,  and 
then  putting  them  away  in  her  secret  drawer  with  other 
dear  memorials.  But  with  the  coming  of  these  Newport 
letters  her  interest  in  them  abated  more  and  more  with 
each  letter,  and  after  this  last,  so  infected,  as  she  thought, 
with  the  poisonous  Circean  draught  that  Fashion  adminis 
ters  to  her  votaries,  she  was  filled  with  astonishment,  and 
grief,  and  disgust,  and  resolving  that  she  would  read  no 
more  of  them,  read  them  more  eagerly  than  before. 

In  the  spring  of  the  following  year  three  letters  were  re 
ceived  at  Lastlands  from  Barabara's  aunt  in  Virginia:  one 
to  Barabara  inviting  her  to  visit  her,  promising  much  pleas 
ure  in  meeting  man}''  relatives  hitherto  unknown  to  her, 
and  in  visiting  some  of  the  many  Springs  and  other  places 
of  public  resort;  and  one  each  to  Thornton  and  his  wife, 
urging  them  to  second  this  invitation,  presenting  in  a 
forcible  way  her  own  claim  as  next  of  kin,  and  suggesting 
the  pleasure  and  benefit  to  Barbara  herself  likely  to  come 
of  the  visit — altogether  putting  the  project  in  such  a  light 
as  seemed  to  make  it  out  of  the  question  to  decline.  After 
much  discussion  over  the  matter,  it  was  determined  that 
Barbara  should  go  over  the  mountains  in  charge  of  Mr. 
Robert  Ormsby,  then  about  going  to  Philadelphia,  and 
meet  her  aunt  in  Washington.  Meantime,  with  his  usual 
considerateness,  Mr.  Ormsby  had  sent  to  Philadelphia  Bar 
bara's  measure,  and  ordered  for  her,  to  be  sent  to  Rich- 


A  Charleston  Chaperon  497 

mond,  whither  she  went  in  May,  an  ample  outfit  of  fash 
ionable  garments  for  the  season. 

Soon  letters  were  coming  from  Barbara  in  Virginia  to 
Lastlands,  letters  full  of  interest  to  Thornton  and  his 
wife,  describing  scenes  familiar  to  them  in  bygone  days, 
and  among  these  "the  old  garden  where  you  used  to  walk 
together."  But  these  letters  would  hardly  interest  the 
reader. 

From  John  D.  a  letter  was  received  about  the  middle  of 
July,  announcing  that  he  would  in  a  few  days  go  again 
to  Newport,  having  received  "orders"  to  that  effect  from 
his  Uncle  Dick.  He  believed  it  was  his  intention  to  pass 
the  hot  season  there,  and  then  go  home  to  Kentucky  and 
Lastlands.  But  he  was  by  no  means  sure  of  this,  as  "Uncle 
Dick  seldom  talks  of  any  design  until  he  is  about  to  put  it 
into  execution."  Of  Barbara  he  had  this  to  say:  "I  have 
heard  only  once  of  Barb,  since  she  went  to  Virginia,  and 
then  through  our  kinsman,  Mr.  Slaughter,  who  has  come 
here  to  enter  the  law  school.  He  has  been  lately  visiting 
Barbara's  kinfolks,  the  Peytons  in  Virginia,  where  Barb, 
and  a  whole  houseful  of  young  people  were  enjoying  them 
selves,  and  related  the  following  incident,  in  which  she 
played  a  characteristic  part:  It  seems  that  they  have  an 
old  housekeeper,  a  white  woman,  a  spinster  long  in  their 
service,  very  competent  and  faithful,  but  addicted  to  drink 
on  occasions,  and  then  likely  to  play  odd  pranks.  One 
night,  long  after  all  the  household  had  gone  to  bed,  Slaugh 
ter,  not  being  able  to  sleep,  on  account  of  a  certain  rest 
lessness  to  which  he  is  subject,  as  he  says,  but  really,  as  I 
have  discovered,  because  he  has  fallen  in  love  with  our 
little  Barb,  (who  must  be  quite  a  little  woman  now).  Well, 
being  awake  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  he  heard  a  strange 
sound  as  of  people  moving  and  whispering  in  the  corridor 
that  runs  along  the  L  in  which  the  housekeeper  has  her 
room.  Looking  out  of  a  window  that  commands  -a  view  of 
this  corridor,  he  saw  a  strange  sight !  All  the  young  ladies 
of  the  household,  and  the  young  lady  guests,  were  there 
in  a  bodv,  in  their  nightgowns  and  slippers,  marching  in 
silence,  like  a  procession  of  virgins  to  a  midnight  mass  or 
other  devotional  exercise.  From  the  windows  of  the  house- 


498  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

keeper's  room  shone  a  bright  light  illuminating  the  oppo 
site  corridor,  along  which  lie  the  chambers  of  these  young 
maidens.  So  great  was  this  light  that  Slaughter  feared 
a  conflagration,  and  would  have  hastened  out  to  ascertain 
the  truth,  but  for  the  dread  of  surprising  in  their  night- 
clothes  this  band  of  lovely,  modest  maidens,  'among  whom 
Barbara  was  preeminent/  This,  except  under  direst  neces 
sity,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  do.  Holding  his  breath 
with  anxiety  and  apprehension,  he  watched  the  procession 
and  awaited  the  issue. 

"The  young  people  had  seen  the  unusual  illumination, 
and  aware  of  the  housekeeper's  infirmity,  and  knowing  that 
she  had  been  drinking  that  day,  and  possessed  of  appre 
hension  of  fire  in  her  room,  were  now  going  in  a  body  to 
investigate  the  matter.  Advancing  to  the  door,  they 
knocked,  and,  receiving  no  answer,  entered  her  room,  where 
they  found  no  conflagration,  but  a  very  strange  sight. 
Along  the  mantelpiece,  and  on  the  toilet,  and  on  the  wash- 
stand,  and  everywhere  about  the  room  where  one  could  be 
fixed,  was  a  lighted  candle,  a  dozen  in  all,  in  the  midst  of 
which,  dressed  in  all  the  finery  she  possessed,  as  an  open, 
empty  trunk  attested,  sat  the  housekeeper  viewing  herself 
in  the  glass  turned  down  to  reflect  her  whole  figure.  She 
was  full  of  indigation  at  this  irruption  of  the  young 
maidens,  and  flew  at  them  in  such  a  rage  that  they  fled 
from  the  room.  Then  they  gathered  outside  by  the  door, 
some  of  them  giggling  at  the  ridiculous  scene  (for  she  was 
a  little,  old,  withered  thing  and  wore  a  wig),  while  others 
were  alarmed  lest,  if  permitted  to  carry  out  her  whimsy, 
she  might  set  the  house  on  fire.  At  this  suggestion  Barbara 
walked  quickly  back  into  the  room  and  began  to  gather  up 
the  candles,  putting  them  out,  when  the  old  body  inter 
posed,  taking  hold  of  her.  Then  quickly,  as  with  steel 
wires,  Barbara's  slender  fingers  grasped  her  wrists,  and  she 
was  forced  into  a  chair,  and  commanded  to  sit  there  in  a 
manner  that  enforced  obedience.  Then,  putting  out  all 
the  candles,  and  taking  them  out  of  the  room,  Barbara 
locked  the  door  on  the  outside,  leaving  her  to  disrobe  her 
self  as  she  best  could  and  go  to  bed  in  the  dark.  After 


A  Charleston  Chaperon  499 

this,  with  exultant  giggles,  the  maidens  went  back  to  their 
chambers. 

"I  asked  Slaughter  how,  in  the  obscure  light  of  the  cor 
ridor,  and  among  so  many  maidens  all  clad  alike,  he  rec 
ognized  Barbara.  He  said  he  'knew  her  by  the  graceful 
poise  of  her  head,  and  by  the  wealth  of  her  hair,  which 
was  loosed  from  its  snood  and  fell  in  a  dark  cloud  to  her 
feet.'  The  jackanapes !" 

After  this,  letters  of  Barbara  from  several  different 
places  in  the  East  informed  Lastlands  that  she  was  with 
her  aunt  on  her  travels.  One  from  New  York  informed 
them  that  she  had  visited  Baltimore  and  Philadelphia, 
where  the  large  acquaintance  of  her  aunt  had  secured  them 
much  polite  attention,  and  that  they  had  accepted  an  invi 
tation  to  visit  some  of  the  Livingstons,  on  the  Hudson,  near 
Tarrytown,  and  after  that  would  probably  go  to  Boston. 

From  John  D.,  Mr.  Ould  was  informed  that  he  was 
again  at  Newport  with  "Uncle  Dick" ;  that  Mr.  Tom  Per 
kins  of  Boston,  he  of  the  short  arm,  whom  his  uncle  had 
known  abroad,  had  come  to  Newport  with  his  beautiful 
yacht,  The  Dream,  which  then  lay  in  the  harbor;  that  he 
had  come,  as  he  had  politely  said,  "on  purpose  to  pick  up 
some  good  company  for  a  cruise,  there  being  no  men  of 
leisure  about  Boston,"  and  that  he  had  "Dick  Thornton  in 
his  mind  when  he  set  sail  for  Newport" ;  that  after  a  grand 
ball  at  their  hotel,  preparations  for  which  were  already 
afoot,  he  thought  that  his  uncle,  and  Mr.  Stackpole,  who 
was  then  in  Boston  but  would  return  for  the  ball,  would 
go  on  a  short  cruise  in  The  Dream. 

On  the  day  before  the  night  of  the  ball,  Stackpole  re 
turned  to  Newport,  bringing  very  unpleasant  news  to  Dick 
Thornton.  In  Boston  he  had  seen  Dick's  former  sweet 
heart,  the  widow,  and  believed  that  if  she  was  not  already 
at  Newport,  she  would  soon  be  there,  and  be  present  at  the 
ball.  Learning  that  Dick  was  with  Mr.  Perkins  on  the 
yacht,  and  knowing  how  serious  a  thing  to  him  was  the 
news  he  had  to  impart,  Stackpole  went  at  once  aboard  to 
communicate  the  intelligence;  intelligence  as  startling  to 
Dick  as  that  warning  from  France  to  Prince  John  about 
Coeur  de  Lion :  "Take  care  of  yourself ;  the  Devil  has  been 


500  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

turned  loose."  On  board  the  yacht  Stackpole  had  availed 
himself  of  a  moment  when  their  host  had  left  the  cabin,  to 
break  the  news  to  Dick,  and  when  the  host  returned  Dick 
immediately  said,  "Perkins,  if  you  will  sail  to-night.  I  will 
cruise  with  you  as  far  and  as  long  as  you  like."  Mr.  Per 
kins,  who  was  already  impatient  of  lying  at  anchor,  and 
indifferent  to  the  ball,  at  once  gave  the  necessary  order, 
and  Stackpole  having  gone  to  the  hotel  and  sent  their  bag 
gage  on  board,  they  sailed  away  that  night  out  of  New 
port  harbor. 

Meantime,  in  his  room  at  the  hotel,  John  D.  was  very  un 
happy.  He  had  been  assigned  a  prominent  part  in  the 
conduct  of  the  ball,  and  was  now  likely  to  be  unable  even 
to  appear  there.  A  boil  had  risen  between  his  eyebrows, 
just  at  the  upper  end  of  his  nose.  Under  the  advice  of  the 
doctor,  he  had  applied  a  diachylon  plaster,  expecting  the 
boil  to  be  thereby  suppressed,  and  this  had  seemed  to  be 
promised  at  first.  But  afterward  it  flamed  out  with  in 
creased  virulence,  and  now  so  disfigured  his  countenance  as 
to  make  it  hardly  recognizable.  Moreover,  the  pain  was 
very  great,  putting  him  as  to  the  ball  hors  de  combat.  In 
stead  of  a  plaster  to  suppress  it,  the  doctor  now  prescribed 
emulsive  applications  to  alleviate  the  pain  while  the  boil 
should  run  its  usual  course. 

At  night,  while  the  ball  went  on,  he  lay  in  great  pain. 
At  last,  thinking  that  he  could  not  be  made  worse,  and 
might  find  some  diversion  by  moving  about,  and  curious 
to  get  a  view  of  the  festivity,  he  muffled  his  face  and  made 
his  way  to  a  point  where  he  could  see  the  dancing-floor. 
There  he  was  at  once  attracted  to  a  figure  in  the  dance,  a 
tall  young  woman  upon  whom  he  could  not  but  gaze  con 
tinually,  inspired  by  a  strange,  inscrutable  interest.  Some 
thing  in  her  tout  ensemble,  but  especially  in  her  eyes,  which 
were  very  beautiful,  strangely  attracted  him.  But  soon  she 
was  shut  out  from  his  view  by  the  crowd,  and  the  pain, 
which  had  seemed  for  a  time  alleviated,  returning  with  still 
greater  violence,  he  went  back  to  his  room.  There  he 
passed  a  miserable  night;  the  music  and  the  boil  throbbing 
in  distressful  unison;  his  unrestful  sleep  haunted  by  dis 
torted  visions,  and  dreams  of  Lastlands,  and  Barbara,  and 


A  Charleston  Chaperon  501 

The  Falls,  through  all  of  which  the  light  of  the  strange 
eyes  he  had  seen  in  the  ballroom  shone  continually. 

Next  morning  the  doctor  lanced  the 'boil,  when  the  pain 
subsided  and  he  fell  asleep.  After  some  hours  under  this 
best  of  all  nature's  medicaments,  he  arose  refreshed  and 
invigorated,  and  filled  with  the  positive  happiness  that  fol 
lows  alleviation  of  pain.  And  in  strange  harmony  with 
this  happiness  came  thoughts  of  the  bright  eyes  he  had 
seen  the  night  before,  and  that  had  haunted  his  dreams 
through  all  his  pain.  Almost  unconsciously  he  repeated 
some  sentimental  lines  he  had  read  and  liked  in  an  Annual 
of  the  season : 

"  'Strangers'  eyes  wear  oft  a  look 
Of  eyes  that  we  have  known 

In  some  forgotten  time  or  place, 
And  light  with  sudden  spell — 

Some  darkened  thought — some  shadowy  trace — 

Whose  silent  and  mysterious  grace 
The  heart  remembers  well.'  " 

In  the  course  of  the  day  he  received  many  messages  of 
condolence,  and  after  dinner  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door 
and  the  voice  of  Miss  W.,  the  Southern  chaperon,  called 
out,  "Come  to  the  door  and  let  me  see  if  you  are  excusable 
for  staying  away  from  the  ball  last  night,  and  know  how 
long  it  may  be  before  you  are  presentable." 

He  went  to  the  door,  but  did  not  open  it,  saying  with  a 
smirk  on  his  face,  "You  will  excuse  me,  please,  Miss  W. ;  I 
am  terribly  disfigured,  and  you  are  the  last  person  in  the 
world  upon  whom  I  would  be  willing  to  make  a  bad  im 
pression." 

"Well,  you  can't  be  in  pain  now,  or  you  wouldn't  talk 
nonsense.  Come !  open  the  door,  and  let  me  see  you.  You 
missed  seeing  the  beauty  of  the  season  last  night."  Then, 
after  some  further  parley,  he  opened  the  door,  when  she 
made  a  sudden  exclamation  on  seeing  his  face  still  swollen 
and  red,  and  said,  "You  are  entirely  excusable !  Pray, 
don't  think  of  showing  yourself  to  anybody  with  that  face ! 
When  you  are  well  enough  to  come  down  to  the  parlor — 
this  very  evening,  at  dusk,  before  the  room  is  lighted,  will 
do — I  have  something  to  say  to  you."  Then  she  went  away. 


502  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Sitting  that  afternoon  at  his  window.,  which  looked  out 
upon  the  front  of  the  hotel,  John  D.  saw  two  ladies  come 
out  of  the  house,  one  tall  and  slender,  the  other  short  and 
stout,  attended  by  a  crowd  of  beaux.  The  ladies  were  clad 
in  traveling  costumes  and  were  manifestly  going  away 
on  the  steamer,  the  hotel  stage  having  their  trunks  already 
upon  it.  The  attending  beaux  all  bore  flowers,  which  they 
presented  to  both  ladies,  to  the  tall  one  in  such  profusion 
that  she  could  not  receive  them  all,  and  at  last  with  much 
merriment  they  were  bundled  into  the  stage.  Then,  as 
the  stage  was  about  to  start,  two  of  the  gentlemen  got 
in  with  the  ladies  and  three  others  mounted  to  the  top 
with  the  driver.  Then  the  stage  started  away,  but  was 
soon  stopped  to  send  back  for  some  forgotten  thing,  when 
the  tall  young  woman,  putting  aside  her  veil,  looked  out 
of  the  window  at  the  hotel,  and  up  to  John  D.'s  window, 
and,  as  he  thought,  right  into  his  eyes.  Then,  as  the  stage 
went  swiftly  away,  he  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  loud  outcry, 
"It  is  Barbara  !"  Then  he  hastily  dressed  himself  and  hur 
ried  away  to  the  wharf,  only  to  see  the  steamer  going  off, 
two  of  the  attending  beaux  waving  adieus  from  the  deck. 

The  reader  will  bear  in  mind  that  all  that  is  here  re 
lated  is  but  an  abstract  from  the  letters  of  John  D.,  as 
will  be  all  that  remains  to  be  said  of  these  young  people 
until  they  returned  to  The  Falls.  The  chronicler  distrusts 
his  power  to  give  by  the  same  method  any  just  notion  of 
the  unhappiness  that  possessed  John  D.  on  seeing  Barbara 
go  away  from  Newport  without  having  been  recognized  by 
him.  Yet  the  attempt  must  be  made,  by  an  abstract  of  one 
frantic  letter  to  Mr.  Ould : 

Learning,  now,  that  his  uncle  and  Stackpole  had  sailed 
away  on  a  cruise  of  uncertain  length,  he  was  possessed  of  a 
feeling  of  absolute  desolation.  What  could  he  ever  do  to 
explain  his  seeming  neglect — nay,  cruel  avoidance — of  Bar 
bara  ? — "dear,  dear  Barb !"  He  was  now  no  longer  fit  com 
pany  for  the  gay  people  of  Newport,  and  avoided  them  all. 
After  the  manner  of  unhappy  people  in  Homer,  he  walked 
disconsolate  "by  the  margin  of  the  many-billowed  sea."  He 
envied  the  sullen  fishermen  toiling  along  the  rocks,  and 
envied  still  more  their  children  playing  in  the  boats.  He 


A  Charleston  Chaperon  503 

envied  every  careless  living  thing  he  saw.  He  was  incapa 
ble  of  putting  his  misery  into  any  definite  shape,  or  of  giv 
ing  it  utterance  save  by  a  monotonous  cry,  "Oh,  Barbara, 
Barbara !"  A  storm  might  have  given  him  some  relief,  but 
the  elements  were  all  quiet,  the  water  in  the  bay  shining 
in  the  sun  and  gently  undulating.  Gay  parties  sailed,  and 
disported,  and  fished  along  the  rocks,  while  he  could  only 
go  out  of  hearing  and  cry,  "Barbara,  Barbara !"  Though 
innocent  of  intentional  slight  to  Barbara,  circumstances 
had  made  him  seem  cruelly  to  have  avoided  her,  and  his 
heart  was  filled  with  remorse.  How  he  despised  now,  for 
getful  of  his  pain,  the  wretched  vanity  that  had  kept  him 
away  from  the  ball  because  of  his  swollen  nose!  It  was 
still  swollen  and  red,  but  he  did  not  care  who  should  see  it. 
He  could  confront  all  Newport  with  it  now.  "Oh,  Bar 
bara,  Barbara,  Barbara!"  This  was  all  he  could  say  to 
tell  his  sorrow,  and  he  said  it  again  and  again,  invoking 
also  such  inanimate  things  as  seem  in  touch  with  human 
feeling:  the  fitful,  sighing,  sweet  southwind,  the  repining 
trees,  the  surf  complaining  to  the  shore — 

"He  told  it  to  the  village  bells, 
They  tolled  it  back  again," 

At  last,  having  blown  off  the  intemperate  heat  of  his 
passion,  he  bethought  him  of  what  he  ought  to  do,  and  soon 
made  up  his  mind.  He  would  go  at  once  in  pursuit  of 
Barbara.  But  this  would  require  more  money  than  was 
in  his  purse.  He  had  known  men  in  college  who  thought 
nothing  of  pledging  their  watches  and  other  valuables,  in 
cases  of  emergency.  He  had  never  done  this,  and  had 
thought  himself  incapable  of  such  a  transaction.  But  now 
he  would  pledge  his  watch  and  every  trinket  he  possessed. 
But  first  he  would  consult  the  cashier  of  the  hotel,  who  had 
always  shown  a  friendly  interest  in  him.  And  lo!  he 
found  this  gentleman  ready  to  give  him  all  the  money  he 
should  require,  on  a  simple  receipt  or  an  order  on  his  Uncle 
Dick.  "Be  sure  to  take  enough  to  answer  your  purpose/' 
said  this  amiable  gentleman.  "You  may  take  a  notion  to 
go  over  to  Paris.  Whatever  you  want,  you  can  have" — • 


504  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

posing  with  a  pen  behind  his  ear,  and  regarding  the  young 
man  with  a  benevolent  smile. 

John  D.  stood  astonished  and  irresolute.  His  uncle  had 
always  kept  him  amply  provided  with  money.  But  he  had 
never  said  anything  to  justify  him  in  taking  up  goods  or 
money  on  his  account.  He  was  unwilling  now  to  do  this, 
and  said,  "Have  you  any  authority  from  Uncle  for  this?" 

"Of  course  we  have!  He  sent  us  written  instruction, 
before  he  sailed,  to  give  you  whatever  you  should  require." 
Then  the  cashier,  informed  of  the  extent  of  his  proposed 
travels,  made  a  detailed  estimate  of  the  cost,  making  liberal 
allowance  for  all  sorts  of  contingencies,  and  John  D.  left 
him  to  prepare  for  setting  out  next  day  on  the  steamer 
for  New  York. 

Going  away  from  the  office,  he  thought  of  the  invitation 
of  the  lady  chaperon  to  meet  her  in  the  parlor,  and  entered 
there,  and  found  the  two  chaperons  in  private  tete-a-tete. 
The  Boston  matron  rose,  and  having  congratulated  him  on 
his  recovery,  went  away,  leaving  the  other  free  to  hold  a 
private  conference  with  him.  "Let  me  tell  you  at  once," 
said  Miss  W.,  "that  I  know  all  about  the  young  beauty  you 
missed  seeing  at  the  ball,  and  I  know  all  about  you,  and 
Lastlands,  and  the  people  there.  Your  uncle  is  one  of  my 
favorites,  and  his  friend  Mr.  Stackpole  is  another.  Be 
tween  them,  but  chiefly  from  Mr.  Stackpole,  I  have  heard 
all  about  these.  Barbara's  mother,  Mrs.  Peyton,  I  knew 
well ;  for  she  was  of  a  distinguished  Carolina  family.  And 
I  know  well  her  half-sister,  the  aunt  who  brought  this 
young  beauty  here;  and,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  I  know  little 
good  of  her.  Though  never  a  beauty,  she  was  very  pretty 
in  youth,  but  always  an  arrant  coquette.  Not  such  a 
coquette  as  we  sometimes  see  (if  these  be  indeed  coquettes), 
so  delicate  and  refined  in  their  art  (if  theirs  be  art)  that 
their  wounds  leave  no  sting — of  whom  men  say,  'It  is  better 
to  have  loved  and  lost  than  not  to  have  loved  them' — but 
gross,  omnivorous,  ambitious  of  universal  conquest,  making 
eyes  at  men  indiscriminately.  I  know  of  all  her  course  in 
Kentucky;  how,  for  a  rich  old  man  in  Virginia,  she  jilted 
your  uncle,  and  how  she  has  since  followed  him  about, 
driving  him  away  from  here  one  summer,  and  then  to 


A  Charleston  Chaperon  505 

Europe,  where  I  expected  her  to  follow.  And  now  she  has 
driven  him  away  to  cruise  with  Mr.  Tom  Perkins  in  his 
yacht.  She  went  away  because  she  heard  that  he  had 
sailed,  and  because  she  saw  here  so  many  people  that  know 
her  character  and  past  history.  Besides,  she  has  grown 
stout,  and  this  has  soured  her.  In  youth,  while  her  beauty 
was  in  the  bud,  her  main  charm  was  a  refined,  delicate 
figure.  Now  this  has  developed  into  a  full-blown  flower, 
but  it  is  a  'choufleur/  and  promises  soon  to  become  a  prize 
cabbage.  I  am  sorry  to  see  her  sweet  niece  with  such  a 
chaperon.  A  selfish  thing !  She  took  her  away  while  she 
was  delighted  with  this  place.  I  offered  to  take  charge  of 
her  if  the  aunt  was  obliged  to  go  to  New  York,  as  she  said. 
But  no,  nothing  would  do  but  that  her  niece  should  go 
with  her.  The  truth  is,  her  visit  here  has  been  in  all  re 
spects  a  failure.  She  was  mad  with  envy  of  the  attention 
the  girl  received.  I  took  care,  for  her  mother's  sake,  as 
well  as  for  her  own  merit,  to  make  her  claims  known,  and 
all  the  best  young  men  and  young  women  were  zealous  to 
make  her  entree  a  success.  She  is  just  like  her  mother, 
gentle  and  innocent  as  a  dove,  and  wise  as  a  serpent,  and 
knows  people  by  intuition.  What  are  you  going  to  do? 
She  didn't  even  know  you  were  here  till  I  told  her." 

"Didn't  you  tell  her  also  that  I  was  sick  ?"  said  John  D., 
who  had  sat  mute  and  astonished  at  this  flood  of  informa 
tion  from  the  veteran  woman  of  society. 

"No ;  I  told  her  that  you  had  a  boil  on  your  nose." 

"But  I  was  very  sick ;  I  wish  you  had  told  her  that !" 

"You  should  have  sent  her  a  note  explaining  your  situa 
tion  and  your  absence  from  the  ball;  not  leaving  that  to 
other  people." 

"But  I  didn't  even  know  that  she  was  here — not  till  I 
saw  her  look  out  of  the  stage  as  it  was  going  away  to  the 
steamboat.  Then  I  hastened  to  dress  and  ran  to  the  wharf, 
but  too  late." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  what  she  may  think  of  it  all.  It  is 
a  great  pity !  But  young  people  seem  always  to  be  playing 
at  cross-purposes ! — and  'life  is  thorny  and  youth  is  vain' — 
you  know  the  rest !  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?" 

"I  am  going  right  after  her,  of  course." 


506  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"Of  course !    Have  you  enough  money  ?  I  can — " 

"Oh,  yes.  Uncle  left  an  order  at  the  office  of  the  hotel 
giving  me  a  credit  for  whatever  I  should  require." 

"Just  like  him.  A  dear,  thoughtful  fellow!  Well.  I 
wish  you  Ion  voyage.  Give  my  love  to  her.  Here  is  the 
man  come  to  light  the  room.  You  had  better  be  gone." 

John  D.  laughed  defiance  of  the  light,  and  went  away 
somewhat  happier  for  this  interview.  N"ext  day  he  set  out 
in  pursuit  of  Barbara. 


CHAPTEE  LII 

ANCESTRAL  HALLS 

"And  the  foot  of  the  pilgrim  shall  find  till  the  last 
Some  fragrance  of  Home  at  this  shrine  of  the  past." 

HE  HAD  no  difficulty  in  following  her  as  far  as  Balti 
more,  where  he  lost  all  trace  of  her,  and  presuming  that 
she  had  gone  to  Virginia,  he  went  there.  After  a  long  and 
tedious  search  he  found,  not  Barbara  but  her  aunt,  the 
widow,  who  told  him  that  she  had  left  Barbara  behind  in 
Baltimore  with  a  grand-aunt  living  there  in  retirement, 
old  Mrs.  Gordon;  that  she  expected  to  remain  there  only 
a  few  days,  and  then,  with  Mr.  Robert  Ormsby,  who  was 
to  come  for  her  from  Philadelphia,  go  home ;  and  that  in 
all  likelihood  she  had  already  gone  to  Kentucky.  Counting 
carefully  the  days  that  had  passed  since  Barbara's  arrival 
in  Baltimore,  and  comparing  notes  with  the  aunt,  and  con 
vinced  that  Jier  conjecture  was  well  grounded,  and  that  to 
return  to  Baltimore  would  be  only  to  waste  time,  he  re 
solved  to  set  out  at  once  on  the  road  home,  by  way  of 
Wyandotte.  But  finding  himself  now  near  the  home  of 
his  Virginia  forefathers,  and  with  time  to  spare  while  wait 
ing  for  the  stage,  he  was  glad  to  use  this  for  a  visit  to 
this  old  home,  now  in  the  possession  of  strangers. 

He  was  cordially  received  and  hospitably  entertained  by 
the  new  possessors,  and  would  have  been  feted  had  he  con 
sented  to  this.  He  saw  in  the  old  burying-ground  the 
tombs  of  his  forefathers,  whose  history  was  well  preserved 
in  the  traditions  of  the  neighborhood  and  in  the  parish 
register.  He  was  informed  that  Barbara  had  also  visited 
the  place,  and  he  was  shown  roots  of  wild  roses  from  the 
grave  of  his  great-grandfather,  and,  from  the  wall  of  the 
burying-ground,  ivy,  carefully  potted,  which  she  had  in 
tended  to  take  home  for  transplantation  at  Lastlands. 

K7 


508  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

These,  after  an  explanation  of  Barbara's  return  to  Ken 
tucky  from  Baltimore,  were  entrusted  to  John  D.,  who 
gladly  bore  them  away,  secured  in  a  strong  basket. 

Some  disappointment  was  felt  by  John  D.  in  this  an 
cestral  home,  which  by  no  means  came  up  to  his  expecta 
tions.  But  there  is  nothing  new  in  this.  Kemoteness  of 
time,  as  of  distance,  "lends  enchantment  to  the  view,"  and 
through  the  mists  of  the  past  all  things  loom  up  larger  than 
life.  This  illusion  must  be  dear  to  the  human  heart,  and 
cherished  by  it,  for  it  is  as  old  as  humanity.  In  all  uges 
it  has  been  the  theme  of  homily  or  of  satire.  In  Eccle- 
siastes  we  are  solemnly  warned  against  it,  and  in  one  of  the 
dialogues  of  Lucian,  that  between  Charon  and  Mercury, 
where,  under  Mercury's  guidance,  the  old  ferryman,  with 
a  furlough  for  a  day,  first  visits  the  upper  world,  it  is  thus 
happily  satirized : 

Charon-' 

"Show  me  those  famous  cities 
So  spoken  of  below — as  Nineveh, 
Mycenae,  and  Cleone — Troy  itself. 
Well  I  remember  ferrying  them  across, 
For  ten  whole  years,  so  great  a  multitude, 
That  I  could  find  no  time  either  to  land 
Or  dry  my  boat. " 

Mercury: 

"For  Nineveh  'tis  gone, 
And  not  a  single  trace  remains  of  it— 
Mycenae— 

I  should  be  ashamed  to  show  thee,  or  Cleone, 
And  still  more  Ilion;  for  I  know  full  well 
That  on  returning  thou  wouldst  strangle  Homer 
For  his  high-sounding  verses.    But  they  once 
Were  famous,  though  they  now  are  dead;  for  cities 
Die,  ferryman,  as  men." 

Charon: 

"Wo  upon 

The  epithets  of  Homer,  and  his  praises! 
Wide-streeted,  consecrated  Ilion,  and 
Oleone,  nobly  built!" 

In  the  case  of  the  descendants  of  Virginia  magnates 
visiting  for  the  first  time  the  "Halls"  of  which  all  their 


Ancestral  Halls  509 

lives  they  have  heard  so  much,  this  disappointment  is  not 
to  be  lightly  considered.  As  Father  Prout  says  of  potatoes, 
there  are  some  things  in  life  too  serious  for  joking,  and 
this  is  one  of  them.  But  there  is  never  any  disappointment 
in  the  hospitality  still  subsisting  there ;  hospitality  that  was 
never  expressed  in  fancy,  but  always  in  the  solid  comforts 
and  agremens  of  life.  And  while  quoting  the  Fathers,  it 
may  be  well  to  say,  with  Father  Tom  McGuire,  "There  is 
never  any  fast  on  the  drink/' 

For  the  rest,  though  the  mansions  of  our  fathers,  the 
best  of  them,  are  not  thought  to  be  fine  houses  at  this  day, 
and  are  far  inferior  to  the  average  mansion  of  the  retired 
haberdasher,  and  though  the  "Old  Dominion"  furnishes 
a  full  quota  to  the  army  of  men  that,  scorning  all  forms 
of  labor,  live  by  their  wits;  and  may  be  fairly  chargeable 
with  being  a  laggard  behind  modern  "progress,"  she  still 
holds  fast  what  is  above  all  its  boasted  achievements,  and 
above  all  price.  As  through  the  long  night  of  the  dark 
ages,  under  the  reign  of  violence,  amidst  the  din  of  arms 
and  the  decay  of  civilization,  were  preserved  in  the  cells 
of  hermits  the  priceless  treasures  of  ancient  learning;  so 
under  the  reign  of  the  worst  fiend  that  roams  the  earth  and 
snares  men's  souls, — -the  MONEY  DEVIL, — amidst  the  din 
of  progress  and  the  decay  of  political  and  commercial 
honor,  have  been  preserved  in  the  sequestered  homes  of  Vir 
ginia  antique  virtues  and  "forgotten  noblenesses."  If,  in 
the  course  of  our  national  life,  an  hour  shall  come,  when 
not  some  mere  sectional  interest  but  the  very  vital  spark 
of  American  freedom  shall  be  in  peril  of  extinction — one 
of  those  emergencies  for  which  Providence  seems  to  hold 
always  in  reserve  some  uncommon  endowment  of  human 
virtue,  of  which  men  say,  "There  comes  the  hour  and  the 
man" — then,  it  is  this  chronicler's  belief — fire  cannot  melt 
it  out  of  him — that  the  MAN  will  come  from  Virginia. 

But  to  return  to  John  D.,  whom  we  shall  not  require  the 
reader  to  accompany  in  his  tedious  journey  across  the  moun 
tains.  Arrived  at  The  Falls  he  remained  there  only  long 
enough  to  know  that  none  of  the  Lastlands  people  were  in 
town,  when  he  went  privily  to  his  fathers  stables,  where  a 
servant  saddled  a  horse  for  him  and  he  rode  away  to  Last- 


510  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

lands.  A  fast  gallop  brought  him  speedily  within  easy  reach 
of  the  plantation,  when  in  a  great  wood  that  lay  along  the 
road  he  pulled  up  his  horse,  and  slackening  the  rein  allowed 
him  to  breathe  himself  in  a  walk.  Slowly,  now,  with  his 
mind  full  of  delightful  memories  and  anticipation,  he  rode 
through  the  primitive  wood;  the  great  trees,  walnuts  and 
hickories  and  elms  and  hackberries  and  locusts,  stretching 
up  their  round  boles  without  a  limb,  almost  a  hundred  feet, 
and  thence  on  leafy  arches  spreading  their  tops  toward  the 
sky;  the  grapevines,  like  huge  boas,  stretching  to  the 
ground;  the  air  filled  with  "invisible  perfume";  birds, 
woodpeckers  and  jays  and  little  nuthatches  and  wrens  and 
summer  yellowbirds,  flitting  through  the  pale-green  light, 
enlivening  the  scene ;  while  out  of  sight,  on  the  tops  of  the 
tallest  trees,  great  hickories  or  poplars — the  monarchs  of 
the  wood — in  the  broad  sunshine — were  heard  the  crows 
teaching  their  young  the  mysteries  of  flight,  and  in  drawl 
ing  nasal  tones,  expressive  of  caution  and  cunning,  warning 
them  of  the  dangers  that  beset  the  lives  of  crows ;  at  inter 
vals  hailing  aloud  or  answering  their  brethren  far  away 
on  other  heights. 

At  a  sharp  turn  in  the  path,  from  behind  a  broken  snag, 
almost  beneath  his  horse's  feet,  with  a  loud  whirr,  startling 
both  horse  and  rider,  sprang  a  blue-tailed  hawk,  leaving  on 
the  ground  a  dead  bird  not  yet  torn  by  the  beak  but  neatly 
plucked,  the  feathers  lying  around  it  like  the  fleece  of  a 
well-shorn  lamb.  It  was  a  white  pigeon,  and  the  sight  of 
the  murdered  bird  sent  a  thrill  through  John  D.'s  breast, 
as  he  remembered  Barbara's  snowy  pets.  Before  this  he 
had  purposely  ridden  slowly,  delighting  in  this  lingering 
approach,  reveling  in  anticipation,  and  associating  with 
Barbara  all  the  delights  about  him,  especially  the  fragrance 
of  the  wildgrape,  now  faint  in  its  second  bloom,  but  still 
exquisite.  But  the  sight  of  the  dead  bird  now  spurred  him 
into  a  more  active  mood,  and  gathering  up  the  reins,  he 
put  his  horse  again  into  a  gallop,  impatient  all  at  once 
of  further  delay. 

As  his  horse  drinks  at  the  ford  he  surveys  the  scene,  and 
not  without  a  vague  sense  of  uneasiness  observes  the  change 
made  by  the  Church  of  St.  John's  in  the  Wilderness  and 


Ancestral  Halls  511 

the  parsonage.  He  would  have  liked  better  to  see  the  fa 
miliar  grove  as  it  was  of  old,  without  this  church  building, 
beautiful  as  it  was  with  its  tall  spire  among  the  tree-tops ; 
and  he  would  have  liked  better  to  see  the  grassy  hillside 
than  the  quaint,  foreign-looking  parsonage  now  nestling  by 
its  side.  Almost  any  change  in  Lastlands  would  have 
offended  him,  and  these  seemed  like  intruders.  He  would 
have  liked  to  find  everything  just  as  he  had  left  it.  AVhen 
he  reached  the  "great-house"  now  completed,  and  saw  the 
wide,  smooth  gravel  road,  and  the  white  columns  along  the 
front  of  the  mansion  wreathed  with  climbing  plants,  its 
stateliness  fairly  oppressed  him.  Seeing  no  person  about 
the  front  of  the  house,  he  rode  to  the  shed,  where,  to  take 
his  horse,  came  old  Tom,  no  longer  dressed  in  his  master's 
cast-off  clothes,  but  wearing  what  seemed  a  smart  livery. 
To  his  inquiry  about  the  family,  he  answered  that  the 
household  was  away  dining  with  a  large  company  at  Major 
Tinsley's,  and,  to  his  dismay,  that  Barbara  had  not  come 
home,  but  was  still  in  Baltimore  with  Mrs.  Gordon !  All 
the  delights  of  Lastlands  grew  vapid  with  this  intelligence. 
The  reader  will  doubtless  recall  the  fine  old  pastoral  in 
which  his  predicament  is  well  described : 

"My  time,  O  ye  Muses,  was  happily  spent, 
When  Phoebe  was  with  me  wherever  I  went. 
Ten  thousand  sweet  pleasures  I  felt  in  my  breast,"] 
Sure  never  fond  shepherd  like  Colin  was  blest,^ 
But  now  she  has  gone  and  has  left  me  behind. 
What  a  marvelous  change  on  a  sudden  I  find! 
When  things  were  as  fine  as  could  possibly  be 
I  thought  'twas  the  spring,  but,  alas!  it  was  she."' 

He  at  once  remounted  his  horse,  and  soon  the  latch  of 
the  big  gate  sounded  behind  him  as  of  old,  and  his  horse 
splashed  across  the  ford  on  his  way  back  to  The  Falls. 


CIIAPTEK  LIII 

MISUNDERSTANDING 

"Hope  is  a  lover's  staff:  walk  hence  with  that, 
And  manage  it  against  despairing  thought." 

THE  chronicler  finds  his  work  grown  far  beyond  what  in 
the  beginning  he  contemplated,  and  distrustful  of  the 
reader's  patience  he  feels  inclined  to  hurry  to  a  conclusion. 
He  is  distrustful,  too,  of  the  reception  of  his  pictures__of 
Kentucky  life  and  character,  which  must  seem  pale  when 
compared  with  the  preconceived  notions  of  the  average 
reader.  Yet  they  are  all  truthful,  and  represent  fairly  the 
halcyon  time  to  which  they  belong.  Nothing  would  induce 
the  writer  to  present  them  otherwise  than  as  they  were,  or 
to  inject  into  them  incidents  that  belong  only  to  the  bar 
barity  that  attended  and  followed  the  Civil  War.  His 
present  concern  is  with  John  D.,  to  whose  trials  he  trusts 
the  reader  is  not  indifferent. 

Before  finally  going  away  from  Newport  he  had  a  second 
interview  with  the  Charleston  chaperon.  With  rare  tact 
she  had  saved  him  from  any  avowal  of  his  love  for  Barbara, 
by  tacitly  assuming  this,  and  grounded  all  her  sage  advice 
upon  .this  assumption.  "Let  me  tell  you,"  she  said,  "that 
I  know  all  about  the  breeding  of  this  young  beauty,  and 
her  hereditary  traits  of  character.  None  of  her  house — 
men  or  women — have  ever  made  a  marriage  of  convenience. 
None  can  win  them  that  do  not  love  them.  As  you  are  a 
Kentucky  man,  you  will  know  what  I  mean  when  I  say  that 
being  thoroughbreds  they  are  not  skittish,  yet  they  are  im 
patient  of  constraint,  and  can  be  subjugated  only  by  love 
and  gentleness.  I  know  that  Barbara  feels  that  she  has 
been  slighted.  When  she  came  first  and  I  spoke  of  you,  her 
face  lighted  up  at  once.  But  afterward,  when  you  did  not 
appear  at  the  ball,  her  pride  was  touched  and  her  bearing 
then  greatly  enhanced  her  beauty.  My  Boston  confrere,  an 

512  " 


Misunderstanding  513 

excellent  judge,  said  to  me,  'What  style  your  young  friend 
has  !  I  have  never  seen  anything  finer.' 

"I  thought  you  much  in  fault.  I  knew  then  only  that 
you  had  a  pimple  on  your  face,  though  I  believe  I  told  her 
it  was  a  boil.  Let  her  know  all  the  circumstances  when 
you  see  her,  and  then  give  her  time  to  think  for  herself. 
Meantime,  wait  patiently  where  she  now  thinks  you  stand — 
in  the  wrong.  She  will  find  out  the  truth  after  a  while,  and 
then  will  come  your  opportunity. 

"Do  not  write  to  her  then.  Written  communications  are 
often  entangling.  Very  few  people  have  the  art  to  say  in 
writing  just  what  they  intend.  Where  the  parties  are  dear 
to  each  other,  but  estranged,  they  are  apt  to  be  biased  by 
jealousy  or  suspicion,  and  then  writing  is  dangerous.  Have 
you  never  observed  how  easily  the  meaning  of  written  words 
may  be  perverted  by  considering  them  too  curiously,  or  by 
long  contemplation  so  stared  out  of  countenance  as  to 
have  no  more  meaning  than  'Abracadabra'  ?  Go  to  her  and 
make  your  explanation  in  person.  Then  any  misunder 
standing  may  be  cleared  up  on  the  spot.  At  all  events,  in 
such  cases  it  is  better  to  appear  'in  the  flesh.' 

"Above  all,  do  not  suffer  yourself  to  be  put  at  a  disad 
vantage  by  jealousy.  Plenty  of  rivals  will  come  into  the 
field,  but  you  must  not  regard  them,  except  to  be  civil  to 
them.  Whatever  she  may  think  of  your  conduct  she  will 
not  change : 

"  'Love  is  not  love 

Which  alters  when  it  alteration  finds, 
Or  bends  with  the  remover  to  remove: 
O,  no!  it  is  an  ever  fixed  mark 
That  looks  on  tempests  and  is  never  shaken' — 

You  know  the  lines.    Wait  and  win." 

Very  soothing  to  John  D.'s  wounded  heart  had  been  the 
touch  of  the  soft  hand  of  this  wise  and  sentimental  spinster, 
who  could  quote  poetry  so  readily  and  so  aptly.  He  had 
felt  like  kissing  her  when  he  bade  her  good-by. 

That  John  D.  was  now  deeply  in  love  with  Barbara  the 
reader  needs  not  to  be  told.  That  for  years — ever  since  he 
was  old  enough  to  feel  that  passion — he  had  loved  her,  after 
such  fashion  as  belonged  to  his  years,  is  highly  probable. 


514  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

But  not  until  he  saw  her  look  with  wistful  eyes  to  his  win 
dow  in  Newport, — nay,  perhaps  not  until  he  saw  the  steam 
er  bearing  her  away,  the  attendant  smiling  beaux  waving 
adieu, — had  he  felt  the  passion  in  full  force.  Then  was 
verified  that  prediction  of  Paul  Scudamore,  that  when  a 
rival  should  come  into  the  field  John  D.  would  know  "what 
ailed  him."  Now,  spite  of  all  the  sage  advice  of  the  wise 
spinster  at  Newport,  he  was  at  a  loss  what  step  to  take 
toward  Barbara.  What  would  she  think,  being  left  so  long 
without  any  explanation  of  his  seeming  neglect?  After 
much  cogitation,  he  resolved  to  write  to  her  at  Baltimore, 
explaining  the  circumstances,  and  expressing  regret  and 
disappointment  on  this  account  and  a  desire  that  she  should 
soon  come  home  to  Lastlands,  and  offering  to  fetch  her. 
But  when  this  letter  had  been  written,  and  deliberately 
read,  it  failed  to  satisfy  him.  The  first  words — the  address 
— were  a  stumbling  block.  Had  he  not  seen  Barbara  at 
Newport,  remembering  her  only  as  his  sweet,  thoughtful, 
unconventional  companion  at  Lastlands  and  The  Falls, 
associated  with  the  happiest  hours  of  his  life,  he  would, 
unhesitatingly,  have  addressed  her  as  "Dear  Barb.,"  and 
this  he  had  done.  But  now,  recalling  the  radiant  and 
somewhat  stately  beauty  he  had  seen  in  the  ballroom  at 
Newport,  and  afterward,  attended  by  the  elite  of  the  beaux 
there,  bearing  votive  offerings  of  flowers,  two  of  them  going 
off  with  her  to  New  York,  such  a  familiar  address  seemed 
altogether  unsuitable,  and  this  letter  was  at  once  destroyed. 
Troubled  again  as  at  Newport,  and  no  sea  being  at  hand, 
he  walked  instead  along  the  margin  of  the  river,  under  the 
shade  of  great  sycamores,  revolving  the  initial  step  in  his 
letter. 

Spite  of  the  Newport  letters  that  had  so  offended  Bar 
bara,  John  D.  was  by  nature  modest.  He  now,  every  day, 
put  a  lower  estimate  upon  himself,  and  a  higher  one  on 
Barbara,  and  was  further  than  ever  from  a  just  conception 
of  the  sort  of  letter  he  ought  to  write.  Gradually  a  proper 
conception  of  such  a  letter  seemed  to  form  itself  in  his 
mind,  and  after  a  day  passed  on  the  falls,  and  more  cogita 
tion,  he  wrote  a  second  letter,  addressing  her  as  "Dear 
Barbara,"  making  a  clear  statement  of  his  predicament  at 


Misunderstanding.  515 

Newport,  his  search  for  her  in  Virginia,  and  his  disap 
pointment  at  not  finding  her  at  Lastlands,  whither  he 
hoped  she  would  soon  return,  but  making  no  offer  to  fetch 
her.  A  model  letter,  studied,  clear  in  statement,  complete 
in  explanation  and  in  justification,  unimpassioned,  proper. 
Yet,  as  a  touch  of  cold  steel,  it  sent  a  chill  to  Barbara's 
heart. 

Alack!  the  spinster  was  right.  There  is  in  human 
speech,  whether  spoken  or  written,  a  subtle  element,  in 
definable,  attainable  only  in  that  half  unconscious  state 
when  the  mind  seems  to  sleep  and  the  heart  alone  keeps 
vigil,  potent  beyond  all  art  of  the  rhetorician;  and  in  this 
element  John  D.'s  letter  was  wanting.  There  was,  perhaps, 
plenty  of  it  in  that  first  letter  beginning  "Dear  Barb./'  but 
this  he  had  torn  up.  Barbara  answered  him  in  the  same 
fashion,  revealing  to  him  the  true  complexion  of  his  own 
letter,  of  which  he  had  been  unconscious. 

What  a  subtle  power  lies  in  words !  Two  short  letters 
without  any  rhetorical  force,  unimpassioned,  polite,  com 
monplace — proper,  seemed  now  to  have  blotted  out  from 
the  memory  and  the  hearts  of  these  young  people  most  of 
their  past  history,  as  completely  as  if  they  had  never  dwelt 
together  at  The  Falls;  as  if  no  such  event  as  the  packing 
up  for  the  removal  to  Lastlands  had  ever  occurred;  as  if 
Mr.  Wall's  school  and  the  Anser,  with  its  shady  loitering 
places,  and  the  branch,  and  the  bridge,  and  old  Kirby  and 
his  museum,  and  the  Duke — and  all  the  many  pleasures  in 
which  they  had  been  associated — were  myths  or  visions  of 
the  night.  In  this  posture  they  stood  when,  on  coming 
home  from  the  falls,  whither  he  had  gone  to  find  in  the 
rushing,  whirling,  tumbling  waters  something  congenial  to 
his  troubled  spirit,  John  D.  learned  that  Barbara  had  come 
home,  and  had  gone  in  his  father's  carriage  to  Lastlands. 
He  was  appalled  on  contemplating  the  state  of  his  case. 
And  he  now  remembered  with  what  emphasis  the  wise 
spinster  at  Newport  had  cautioned  him  against  written  ex 
planations.  Would  she  were  here  now,  to  console  him 
afresh  with  some  hope-inspiring  speeches  and  quotations 
from,  the  poets,  which  had  always  carried  conviction  as  if 
she  "nail't  wi'  Scripture" ! 


CHAPTEE  LIV 

PAUL  AND  PHCEBE 
"They  do  not  love  that  do  not  show  their  love." 

MANY  changes  had  occurred  also  in  the  households  about 
Lastlands.  Vaughn's  oldest  son  married  his  sweetheart 
"over  the  Ridge";  and  soon  two  other  sons  were  beguiled 
into  the  same  predicament;  for  there  were  sirens  in  that 
land — and  the  old  farmer  found  himself  so  crippled  in  the 
vital  matter  of  farm  labor,  that  he  was  forced  to  turn 
grazier,  and  lay  down  in  grass  the  greater  part  of  his  land. 
He  had  looked  forward  to  continue  to  his  life's  end  the 
old  method,  but  as  he  had  never  made  any  offer  to  ad 
vance  his  sons  in  life,  and  now  refused  to  do  this,  keeping 
them  as  farm  hands  on  small  wages,  they  resolved  to  set 
up  for  themselves.  Hugh  had  long  ago  been  withdrawn 
from  Mr.  Wall's  school,  and  was  now  away  in  Missouri, 
whither,  furnished  with  a  horse  and  a  hundred  dollars,  he 
had  gone  ostensibly  to  visit  an  uncle  living  there,  but 
really  to  "seek  his  fortune,"  a  form  of  escapade  not  uncom 
mon  in  that  day.  Only  through  Phrebe  was  any  inter 
course  now  maintained  with  Lastlands,  and  this  only  by 
Thornton,  who,  in  the  course  of  his  rides,  sometimes  found 
her  walking  in  the  road  that  led  to  the  bridge  across  the 
branch  and  to  the  cattle  barn,  and  in  Paul's  interest  kept 
himself  informed  of  the  family.  Finding  her  now  walking 
there  the  day  before  Barbara's  return  and  looking  discon 
solate,  Thornton  saluted  her,  and  drawing  near  was  so 
impressed  with  her  sad  face  that  he  could  not  forbear  to 
express  regret  on  account  of  the  changed  relations  of  the 
two  households.  To  this  she  answered  warmly  in  sympathy 
with  him,  and  inquired  with  great  interest  about  Barbara. 
When  he  answered  as  to  this,  informing  her  that  she  would 
be  home  very  soon,  he  added,  "We  shall  soon  be  all  to- 

516 


Paul  and  Phoebe  517 

gether  once  more.  Paul  is  coming,  too.  I  should  not  be 
surprised  to  see  him  any  day."  She  was  manifestly  agi 
tated  by  this,  and  turned  away  her  face  from  Thornton, 
and  trembled  a  little,  but  soon  rallied,  and  said,  "Do  you 
hear  from  Mr.  Paul  ever?" 

"Oh,  yes;  he  often  writes  to  me,  and  always  inquires 
after  all  his  old  friends.  I  have  now  a  Nashville  news 
paper  in  which  there  is  an  account  of  his  appearance  before 
the  Governor  of  Tennessee  and  his  council,  to  report  the 
work  done  on  the  survey  in  which  he  has  been  engaged; 
Mr.  Bliss  being  sick  and  not  able  to  appear  in  person.  If 
you  would  like  to  read  it  you  may  have  the  paper."  And 
then  taking  it  from  his  pocket,  Phoebe  eagerly  advanced  to 
the  side  of  his  horse  and  took  it  into  possession.  But  she 
looked  now  more  disconsolate  than  before,  and  as  Thornton 
drew  up  his  rein  and  seemed  about  to  ride  away  she  said, 
with  much  emotion: 

"Oh,  Colonel  Thornton,  I  wish  you  would  come  to  see 
father!  He  is  very  unhappy  on  account  of  these  changes 
here." 

"But  I  did  go  to  see  him  once,  and  he  received  me  very 
ungraciously.  I  do  not  think  I  was  to  blame  for  what  has 
happened.  How  do  I  know  that  he  may  not  receive  me 
in  the  same  way  now?" 

"Oh,  no;  mother  says  he  would  not;  he  would  only  be 
too  glad  to  get  back  into  the  old  way,  but  he  does  not  know 
how  to  go  about  it.  She  said  that  if  she  should  meet  you 
she  would  tell  you  this.  Oh,  I  should  like  to  see  something 
like  those  old  Lastlands  days  again !  Sometimes  I  walk 
down  to  the  stepping-stones  at  the  branch,  but  I  never  go 
across  them;  and  sometimes  I  go  down  the  road  here  as 
far  as  the  bridge,  and  see  Mr.  Kirby.  But  now,  instead  of 
the  laugh  and  the  pleasant  face  he  used  to  have  for  me,  he 
looks  solemn,  and  only  puts  up  his  hand  and  makes  that  old 
soldier's  salute,  which  sends  a  chill  to  my  heart !" 

"Well,  I  will  think  over  what  you  have  said,  and  if  you 
are  walking  here  at  this  time  to-morrow  I  will  see  you 
again.  Your  mother's  assurance  that  I  will  be  welcome 
will  suffice.  Tell  her  this,"  Then  they  shook  hands  and 
parted, 


518  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Thornton  had  once  said  in  relation  to  Phoebe  and  Paul, 
"I  will  not  be  a  matchmaker."  It  is  to  be  feared  that  he 
was  now  in  a  fair  way  to  break  his  promise;  for  on  the 
next  day  at  the  same  hour  he  rode  down  to  the  same  place, 
prepared  to  make  almost  any  required  concession,  when,  to 
his  surprise,  he  saw  at  a  distance  Phcebe  there  in  company 
with  a  strange  young  gentleman,  who  walked  slowly  by 
her  side,  leading  his  horse  by  the  bridle.  This  was  Paul 
come  home,  having  taken  in  the  last  stage  of  his  journey 
the  somewhat  circuitous  route  by  old  Vaughn's  house,  and 
thence  down  the  road  toward  the  bridge  and  the  cattle 
barn.  He  had  met  Phcebe  in  the  road  and  at  once  dis 
mounted,  and  without  much  prelude  did  then  and  there  un 
bosom  himself,  in  his  frank  way  avowing  his  love,  and  re 
ceiving  a  like  avowal  from  the  tender-hearted  maiden. 
Then,  as  they  walked  toward  Vaughn's  house,  seeing 
Phoebe's  mother  approaching  them,  Paul  fastened  his 
horse,  took  Phoebe's  hand  and  led  her  to  her  mother,  and, 
emboldened  by  his  love,  made  the  same  avowal  to  her,  im 
ploring  her  to  intercede  with  the  obdurate  father,  in  such 
terms  as  melted  the  mother's  heart.  Then  Paul  embraced 
the  mother,  and  then  all  three  embraced,  and  all  shed  some 
foolish  tears.  The  reader  may  be  assured  that  no  insuper 
able  obstacle  now  remained  between  this  simple  young 
couple  and  happiness. 

Thornton  then  paid  a  visit  to  old  Vaughn,  who  received 
him  with  more  emotion  than  Thornton  had  thought  him 
capable  of  feeling,  and  the  old  cordial  relations  were  re 
sumed.  Then  Thornton  resolved  to  give  a  dinner,  to  which 
all  the  near  neighbors  should  be  invited,  ostensibly  to  cele 
brate  Paul's  return,  but  mainly  to  show  him  in  an  advan 
tageous  light  to  old  Vaughn,  for  Paul  now  presented  a 
manly  and  very  attractive  figure. 

Phcebe  had  shown  to  her  mother  the  newspaper  account 
of  Paul's  appearance  before  the  Governor  of  Tennessee  and 
his  council,  but  had  withheld  it  from  old  Vaughn  at  Thorn 
ton's  diplomatic  suggestion,  that  it  would  be  better  to  keep 
it  in  reserve  as  a  coup  de  grace,  in  case  the  old  father 
should  prove  obstinate  in  his  personal  objection  to  Paul, 


CHAPTEE  LV  .....    . 

BARBARA'S  RETURN 
"She's  home  again." 

MEANTIME,  all  Lastlands  had  been  on  tiptoe  in  expecta 
tion  of  Barbara's  return.  On  the  morning  of  the  day  that 
brought  her  to  The  Falls,  Thornton  had  been  at  the  cattle 
barn,  where,  seeing  Elijah  moping  and  looking  dispirited, 
he  asked  Kirby,  "What  is  the  matter  with  Elijah?  He 
begged  me  to  let  him  come  here  to  work.  Doesn't  he  like 
the  place?" 

"Oh,  yes ;  he  likes  it  very  well.  I  don't  think  he  wants 
to  change.  I  know  he  wouldn't  like  to  leave  the  Duke. 
But  he  has  never  been  the  same  nigger  since  Miss  Barbara 
went  away.  And  I  believe  everybody  else  has  been  put  out 
in  the  same  way.  For  a  long  time  I  felt  as  if  I  had  lost 
something,  but  couldn't  tell  what  it  was,  till  I  saw  'Lijah 
giving  all  his  idle  time  to  rubbing  her  mare,  and  keeping 
her  under  cover,  to  get  off  the  sunburn,  and  looking  after 
her  little  ponies.  He  went  to  old  Tom  to  get  her  saddle 
and  the  ponies'  harness,  to  clean  them  against  her  coming; 
but  the  old  fellow  sent  him  off  in  a  huff,  and  told  him  that 
he'd  tend  to  that  business  himself.  You  are  looking  for 
her  home  any  day  now,  ain't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  any  hour." 

"Well,  the  Lord  send  her  safe  home  soon!  Lastlands 
ain't  Lastlands  with  Miss  Barbara  away." 

Phcebe  had  now  once  more  crossed  the  stepping-stones 
to  Lastlands  to  know  if  there  were  yet  any  tidings  of  Bar 
bara.  She  was  on  the  front  corridor,  in  her  bonnet,  about 
to  go  home,  when  Mr.  John  Digby's  carriage  drove  up  with 
Barbara's  eager  face  peering  out  at  the  window.  The  con 
gratulations  that  followed,  the  reader  may  easily  imagine. 

519 


520  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Lastlands  was  stirred  as  no  event  had  ever  stirred  it,  save 
the  coming  of  the  first  baby !  A  full  holiday  was  proclaimed 
by  the  master,  and  the  plantation  was  put  in  holiday  attire. 
Troops  of  slaves,  old  and  young, — all  but  the  old  crones, 
Hannah  and  Milly, — were  soon  at  hand  to  welcome  the 
"angel"  of  the  house.  Ejaculations  and  blessings  and  clap 
ping  of  hands  were  on  all  sides  heard  from  these  emotional 
children  of  the  sun.  Elijah's  eyes  danced  with  joy  as  he 
laughed,  and  cried,  and  pirouetted  on  his  crutch. 

In  this  tumult  of  congratulation  Phoebe  felt  isolated  and 
overslaughed,  and  spite  of  herself  a  jealous  pang  smote 
her  heart.  After  another  kiss  from  her  friend  she  went 
home,  attended  by  Paul. 

Next  day  John  D.  came  to  Lastlands.  He  was  now  a 
despairing  lover.  He  had  come  under  a  sense  of  duty  to 
give  Barbara  a  hearty  greeting,  and  to  throw  his  heart  at 
her  feet,  without  hope  that  she  would  take  it  up.  The  mar 
riage  of  these  young  people  had  long  been  the  secret  desire 
and  expectation  of  all  Lastlands.  A  disappointment  in  this 
would  be  a  painful  blow,  almost  a  household  calamity. 
More  anxious  than  all  was  Mrs.  Thornton.  Soon  after 
John  D.'s  coming  was  known,  she  had  said  impatiently  to 
her  husband,  "Please  go  away  to  visit  somewhere,  or  ride 
around  the  plantation.  Barbara  knows  that  you  are  wait 
ing  to  see  her  meeting  with  John  D.,  and  you  have  driven 
her  to  her  room.  Don't  take  it  into  your  head  that  because 
you  have  helped  Phoebe  and  Paul  you  can  do  any  good 
here.  The  cases  are  very  different.  They  must  be  left  to 
themselves.  Interference  will  only  do  harm." 

Thornton  meekly  complied,  and  making  an  obeisance  in 
token  of  submission,  ordered  his  horse;  and  then,  telling 
John  D.  that  the  old  crones  were  anxious  to  see  him,  and 
that  he  had  promised  to  send  him  to  their  cabin;  that 
Barbara  had  a  headache,  and  that  his  wife  was  ministering 
to  her  in  her  chamber,  but  that  they  would  probably  both 
be  astir  and  down  when  he  should  come  back  from  the 
cabin,  he  rode  away,  while  John  D.  went  to  visit  the  old 
slaves.  These  were  two  superannuated  cooks,  Hannah  and 
Milly,  who  had  each  in  her  day  ruled  the  roost  in  his  grand 
father's  kitchen.  Hannah  was  the  oldest  slave  at  Last- 


Barbara's  Return  521 

lands,  and  the  chief  of  the  patricians  of  the  quarter — the 
slaves  of  long  descent  from  slaves  born  in  the  master's 
house,  not  bought  with  his  money.  She  was  long-haired, 
black  as  ebony,  tall  and  straight,  with  regular,  small  fea 
tures,  clean-cut  and  medallion-like  in  a  degree  seldom 
seen  in  Africans.  In  fine  weather,  except  in  "wintertime," 
she  was  to  be  seen  at  the  door  of  her  cabin,  sitting  upright 
in  a  cushioned,  splint-bottomed  chair,  her  head  covered  by 
a  clean  cap  with  cheap  lace  border,  a  cane  pipestem  be 
tween  her  short,  yellow  teeth,  in  grave  contentment,  with 
lack-lustre  eyes,  "taking  the  sun/' 

Milly  was  not  of  those  born  in  the  master's  house,  but 
bought  with  his  money — bought  by  Reginald  Thornton's 
guardian  while  he  was  himself  a  minor  away  at  school. 
She  loved  to  tell  how,  when  a  slip  of  a  girl,  she  was  bought 
from  the  Tollivers,  and  how  she  first  saw  her  master  when 
he  came  home  from  school  to  take  possession  of  his  planta 
tion,  and  how  he  beat  the  overseer,  "a  bad  man,"  and  drove 
him  away.  She  was  very  unlike  Hannah,  being  not  so  black 
and  being  short  and  stout,  and,  though  much  younger, 
walked  half  bent,  using  a  staff — contrasting  strongly  with 
Hannah  in  appearance  and  in  manner,  being  of  a  sprightly 
temperament  and  full  of  lively  chatter,  while  Hannah  was 
grave  and  not  without  a  certain  native  dignity. 

They  were  both  at  the  door  expectant  of  him  when  John 
D.  came  to  the  cabin— Hannah  in  her  chair  and  Milly  out 
side  capering  about  in  a  lively  way  with  her  staff.  "Is  dat 
Mars  John  D.  ?"  Hannah  said,  hearing  his  voice,  as  he 
spoke  to  some  tenants  of  the  cabins. 

"Yes,  Aunt  Hannah,"  he  replied. 

"Come  close,  please,  and  let  me  see  who  you  look  like." 
And  then,  as  he  drew  near  and  took  her  hand,  she  tried  to 
make  a  curtsy,  but  failed,  not  being  able  to  rise.  Then, 
scrutinizing  his  form  and  features,  she  found  points  of 
resemblance  to  grand-uncles  and  others  long  dead.  Then 
she  said,  "Where  is  that  country  you  been  in  so  long — 
away  yonder  at  the  seashore,  ain't  it  ?" 

"Yes,  Aunt  Hannah,  right  by  the  seashore." 

"To  be  sure !  To  be  sure !"  and  Milly  echoed,  "To  be 
sho'!  Tobesho'!" 


522  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Then,  while  Aunt  Hannah  seemed  wrapt  in  meditation, 
a  strange  light — the  light  of  other  days — illuminating  her 
face,  Milly  said,  "I  be  bound  you  felt  mighty  strange  when 
you  fust  got  in  dat  country." 

"Yes,  I  felt  lonesome,  at  first." 

"Hi,  hi,  hi !  but  I  be  bound  when  you  got  used  to  it  you 
never  let  dat  country  rest  for  runnin'  after  de  gals !"  This 
speech  roused  Hannah,  who  at  once,  with  a  sibilant  utter 
ance,  "Chit-chit-chit!  Milly-Milly-Milly !"  utterly  sup 
pressed  her,  and  then  said,  with  a  grave  smile,  "Of  course 
Mars  John  D.  went  to  see  the  young  ladies." 

The  Africans  of  which  Hannah  was  a  type  possessed  sin 
gular  vitality  as  well  as  peculiar  traits  of  character,  and 
were  valued  more  highly  than  all  others.  The  Spaniards 
and  other  early  slavers  had  much  knowledge  of  the  char 
acteristic  traits  of  the  different  African  tribes,  and  valued 
them  accordingly.  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  some 
thing  definitive  of  this,  but  this  chronicler  has  no  knowl 
edge  of  the  subject.  Hannah,  though  much  older  than 
Milly  and  unable  to  seat  herself,  or  when  seated  to  rise 
without  help,  and  waited  on  by  Milly,  whom  she  dominated, 
still  retained  her  mental  faculties  and,  as  we  have  seen,  a 
just  sense  of  propriet)r,  while  Milly,  though  able  to  go  about 
everywhere  in  the  quarter,  was  in  a  state  of  lively  dotage. 

When  John  D.  had  left  the  cabin  and  was  on  his  way  to 
the  house,  he  was  intercepted  by  Milly,  who  had  availed 
herself  of  the  opportunity,  while  Hannah  was  fixed  in  her 
chair,  to  have  a  further  talk  with  him.  "Did  you  know, 
Mars  John  D.,"  she  said,  "dat  I  been  in  a  trance  while  you 
was  gone  away?" 

"No,  indeed;  I  did  not  know  that." 

"Yes,  I  been  in  a  trance;  and  I  went  up  to  heaven  and 
down  to  hell." 

"Indeed !    And  what  did  you  see  there  ?" 

"In  heaven  I  saw  all  de  little  angels  flyin'  about  suckin' 
de  flowers,  an'  de  big  angels  blowin'  de  trumpets.  I  learned 
a  song  up  dere — would  you  like  me  to  sing  it  for  you? 
Nobody  can't  sing  it  so  mournful  as  I  can." 

And  then,  John  D.  expressing  a  desire  to  hear  it,  she 
gave  him  on  treble  pipes  a  hearse-like  air,  mournful  enough 


Barbara's  Return  523 

and  pitiful.    After  this,  thinking  any  change  desirable,  he, 
asked,  "What  did  you  see  in  hell  ?" 

"In  hell  I  saw  all  de  kittles  on  de  fire,  wid  de  melted 
lead,  an'  brimstone,  an'  de  little  devils  an'  de  big  devils 
wid  pitchforks  tormentin'  de  sinners.  An'  I  saw  de  Tol- 
liver  women  hangin'  up  by  de  hyar." 

Having  supped  full  with  horrors,  John  D.  closed  the 
interview  and  went  to  the  house. 


CHAPTER  LVI 

THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE 

"O,  how  the  spring  of  Love  resembleth 
The  uncertain  glory  of  an  April  day; 
Which  now  shows  all  the  beauty  of  the  sun, 
And  by  and  by  a  cloud  takes  all  away." 

IT  HAD  not  required  much  effort  on  the  part  of  Dick 
Thornton  to  talk  his  brother  out  of  all  his  notions  of  per 
sonal  independence,  so  far  as  Dick  himself  was  concerned. 
In  youth  Robert  had  been,  as  we  have  seen,  a  willing  de 
pendent  on  the  older  brother,  and  now,  merging  all  his 
morbid  feeling  in  love  and  gratitude,  he  returned  to  his 
early  allegiance.  Dick  had  not  only  refused  to  accept  any 
share  of  the  great  profit  derived  'from  the  traffic  in  Spanish 
jackasses,  ordering  the  large  sum  placed  to  his  credit  on 
that  account  in  the  bank  to  be  transferred  to  the  credit  of 
his  brother,  but  had  added  to  this  such  a  sum  as  made  Rob 
ert  Thornton's  balance  largely  in  excess  of  that  of  any 
depositor  of  the  bank. 

Before  this  McCrae  had  been  the  largest  depositor  there, 
and  had  long  enjoyed  from  this  distinction  great  satisfac 
tion  as  well  as  the  grateful  civility  always  accorded  on  that 
account  in  the  circle  of  trade  and  notably  in  the  temples 
of  Mammon.  The  exclusiveness  that  now  belongs  to  bank 
offices  did  not  then  exist.  They  had  their  privileged 
loungers,  moneyed  men  depositors,  some  of  whom  picked 
up  there  information  valuable  to  them  as  money  lenders 
at  usurious  rates,  or  shavers  of  paper,  chief  among  whom 
was  McCrae.  Looking  now  over  the  books,  as  from  long 
familiarity  with  the  office  of  the  bank,  and  a  habit  of  often 
reviewing  his  own  account,  he  was  accustomed  to  do,  and 
curious  about  everything  that  concerned  the  financial  con- 

§34 


The  Course  of  True  Love  625 

dition  of  the  Thorntons,  he  covertly  turned  to  the  page  that 
contained  their  name,  and  seemed  thunderstruck  at  sight 
of  it.  The  veteran  cashier  was  shocked  and  amazed  to  see 
him  suddenly  turn  away,  pale  and  trembling,  and  grope  his 
way  to  a  seat,  and  soon  after  send  for  a  carriage  and  go 
home.  But  he  well  comprehended  the  cause  of  this  when, 
returning  to  his  place  at  his  desk,  he  saw  the  book  open  at 
the  page  on  which  stood  penciled  in  imposing  array  the 
long  row  of  figures  that  indicated  Robert  Thornton's  bal 
ance.  These  old  bank  officials,  though  habitually  silent, 
were  by  no  means  unobservant,  and  he  knew  that  McCrae 
had  been  overcome  by  surprise  and  chagrin  on  seeing  him 
self  now  superseded  as  chief  depositor  of  the  bank  by 
Thornton.  Next  day  it  was  known  that  he  was  stricken 
with  paralysis. 

Not  long  afterward  Ould  was  sent  for  to  write  his  will ; 
and  when  this  had  been  done  he  put  into  Quid's  hand  a 
memorandum  of  facts  of  great  importance  to  Mrs.  Scuda- 
more  and  Paul,  such  information  as  Ould  thought  would 
enable  them  to  make  good  their  title  to  the  land  of  which 
they  were  in  possession,  and  also  the  share  of  all  of  which 
they  had  been  defrauded.  A  living  witness  cognizant  of 
Ihe  whole  fraudulent  transaction  had  been  found  by  Mc 
Crae,  and  Ould,  having  by  a  proceeding  at  law  perpetuated 
this  testimony,  was  now  getting  ready  to  go  to  Virginia 
with  a  copy  of  this  and  obtain  the  restitution  of  their  in 
terest,  without  a  lawsuit.  It  was  a  favorite  method  with 
Ould  to  proceed  first  by  private  interviews,  laying  great 
stress  on  this,  the  method  by  which  he  had  succeeded  in 
the  case  against  McCrae.  He  had  a  fixed  belief  that  few 
men  could  hold  out  in  the  wrong  against  a  plain  showing, 
properly  made  in  private.  After  the  matter  has  been 
made  public  by  a  lawsuit  the  situation  is  altered,  and  the 
party  put  upon  his  mettle,  and  constrained  to  fight  with 
all  his  strength  in  defense  of  character. 

Though  McCrae,  before  the  catastrophe  at  the  bank,  had 
resolved,  under  his  superstitious  fear,  not  to  commit  against 
Thornton  any  further  act  of  offense,  he  had  not  then  given 
up  the  idea  of  possessing  Lastlands,  but  cheated  himself 
with  the  belief  that  in  the  natural  course  of  events  it 


526  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

would  fall  into  his  hands.  Meantime,  he  had  been  pos 
sessed  with  an  idea  of  some  act  of  beneficence  toward 
Thornton,  or  his  household,  that  should  compound  for  past 
offenses.  Now  prostrated  by  a  sudden  and  perhaps  fatal 
stroke,  apprehensions  more  serious  than  any  that  relate  to 
merely  worldly  fortune  haunted  him.  Abandoning  all  hope 
and  even  desire  for  Lastlands,  he  had  now  hastened  to 
make  a  first  act  of  atonement  by  what  he  had  done  in 
behalf  of  Paul  and  his  mother — a  thing  not  likely  to  be 
defeated  by  any  repugnance  on  the  part  of  the  beneficiaries 
to  be  beholden  to  him.  He  felt  a  peculiar  satisfaction  in 
doing  this  through  Ould,  by  whom  he  knew  it  would  be 
promptly  made  known  to  them,  and  thence  advertised  to 
the  public.  Quid's  compassion  was  moved  by  McCrae's 
humiliation,  and  by  the  piteous  aspect  he  now  wore.  Above 
all  sublunary  things  he  seemed  now  to  desire  to  make  his 
peace  with  Thornton. 

At  Lastlands  the  miscarriage  of  John  D.'s  suit  was  a 
serious  disappointment,  especially  to  Mrs.  Thornton.  But 
she  was  not  without  hope  for  the  future.  She  believed  that 
his  wooing  had  been  too  precipitate,  urging  a  suit  that 
could  be  favorably  received  only  after  a  long,  quiet  com 
munion  should  have  restored  the  old  relation  of  the  parties. 
With  very  many  young  couples  she  well  knew  that  only  a 
certain  quantum  of  propinquity  is  necessary,  when  they 
mate  like  pigeons  shut  up  together  in  a  box.  But  not  so 
this  couple.  She  thought  that  John  D.'s  faint  heart  had 
much  to  do  with  his  failure ;  that  Barbara  mistook  his  shy 
advance  for  indifference;  that  she  believed  that  his  offer 
had  been  now  made  only  from  a  sense  of  duty  and  a  desire 
to  comply  with  the  wishes  of  his  friends  and  meet  the  ex 
pectations  of  "all  Lastlands."  And  behind  these  consid 
erations,  and  fortifying  them,  was  that  well-considered, 
studied,  proper,  fatal  letter  written  to  her  at  Baltimore. 
The  seeming  neglect  at  Newport  had  been  condoned,  as  well 
as  the  Newport  letters. 

Dick  Thornton,  who  had  also  returned  to  The  Falls,  was 
now  called  away  to  New  Orleans  by  dispatches  from  Stack- 
pole,  and  was  about  to  set  out,  taking  with  him  John  D., 
now  in  a  very  unhappy  state  of  mind.  Mrs.  Thornton  was 

-i 


The  Course  of  True  Love  527 

glad  that  he  was  going  away.  She  was  still  hopeful  for 
him,  though  nothing  could  be  done  just  now. 

After  the  departure  of  John  D.  and  Dick  Thornton,  Mr. 
Ould  being  often  at  Lastlands  in  conference  with  Mrs. 
Scudamore,  and  learning  from  Mrs.  Thornton  the  failure 
of  John  D.'s  suit,  and  of  Barbara's  distrust  of  John  D/s 
love  for  her,  he  told  the  good  lady  of  his  own  correspond 
ence  with  John  D.  at  Newport,  and  soon  afterward  put  into 
her  hand  that  frantic  letter  from  which  it  has  been  attempt 
ed  to  picture  his  distressful  state  there,  to  be  used  at  her 
discretion  in  disabusing  Barbara's  mind.  Distressful  as 
the  letter  was,  after  reading  she  folded  it  with  a  delighted 
face.  Then  she  said,  "I  think  this  will  do ;  but,  pray,  don't 
say  anything  of  this  to  my  husband.  He  has  a  great  opin 
ion  of  his  skill  in  affairs  like  this,  and  is  busy  forwarding 
that  of  Phoebe  and  Paul.  But  this  case  is  not  at  all  like 
theirs.  It  requires  a  more  delicate  hand.  I  have  not  ven 
tured  to  say  a  word  to  Barbara.  But  I  believe  this  letter 
will  set  all  right — when  the  time  conies  for  her  to  see  it. 
It  will  not  do  to  show  it  now.  But  the  opportunity  will 
come,  and  I  must  wait  for  it."  And  Mr.  Ould  nodded 
assent,  and  said,  with  a  smile,  "The  case  will  lie  in  abey 
ance  until  the  spring  and  then  be  revived  or  be  begun  de 
novo." 

Meantime,  Mr.  Bob  Thornton  was  not  idle  in  the  matter 
he  had  taken  in  hand  for  Paul.  This  he  felt  to  be  his  own 
especial  undertaking,  to  the  consummation  of  which  he 
considered  himself  committed.  As  on  a  former  occasion, 
when  first  informed  by  Paul  that  there  was  a  love  affair 
between  John  D.  and  Barbara,  he  thought  their  case  would 
keep,  while  that  of  Paul  and  Phcebe  was  more  pressing. 
With  his  usual  persistence  he  now  busied  himself  with  for 
warding  this  by  a  dinner  that  should  bring  together  the 
Lastlands  neighbors,  and  show  Paul  in  a  favorable  light 
to  old  Vaughn.  Something  of  this  dinner  and  the  table- 
talk  of  that  day  will  be  seen  in  a  subsequent  chapter. 


CHAPTER  LVII 

TABLE   TALK 

"The  first  ingredient  in  Conversation  is  Truth,  the  next 
Good  Sense,  the  third  Good  Humor,  and  the  fourth  Wit." 

IT  WAS  a  bright  day  at  Lastlands  when  Mclntyre  and 
Russell,  and  Mr.  Joe  Sterrett  and  wife,  and  Major  Tinsley 
and  old  Hugh  Vaughn,  and  Phcebe  and  Paul  Scudamore, 
and  a  large  company  of  neighbors,  were  there  at  dinner, 
A  dinner-party  in  that  day  was  always  in  the  beginning  a 
formal  affair,  even  when  most  of  the  guests  were  familiar 
friends.  Mrs.  Thornton  and  Barbara  received  the  guests 
as  they  arrived,  the  ladies  making  old-fashioned  curtsies 
and  the  gentlemen  bowing  very  low. 

When  all  were  assembled  and  dinner  announced,  Mrs. 
Thornton  assigned  each  lady  an  escort,  reserving  Major 
Tinsley  for  herself.  Russell,  for  mischief,  had  taken  pos 
session  of  Barbara,  forestalling  the  young  prince  of  "Locust 
Grove,"  who  was  there  in  attendance  upon  her.  But  the 
kind  hostess  interfered,  calling  to  Mr.  Croghan  to  escort 
Miss  Peyton.  Paul  went  right  up  to  Phoebe,  who  took  his 
arm  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  they  filed  in  to  the  table. 

Nothing  in  the  formality  of  the  proceeding  could  for  a 
moment  prevent  Paul  from  feeling  and  looking  extremely 
happy.  He  was  attired  in  the  height  of  the  fashion,  with 
the  regulation  swallowtail  coat,  white  necktie,  ruffled  lace, 
low  shoes  and  silk  stockings,  and  presented  a  stylish, 
handsome  figure.  His  mother's  eyes  lighted  up  with  pride 
as  she  looked  at  him.  Old  Vaughn  was  manifestly  puzzled 
and  astonished  at  his  appearance,  and  impressed  by  the  in 
terest  manifested  by  everybody  in  his  behalf.  As  for 
Phcebe,  she  fairly  tiptoed  with  pride  and  supreme  satisfac 
tion.  "Father  is  bound  to  give  in  now,"  she  thought ;  "I'm 

528 


Table  Talk  529 

sure  Paul  is  only  too  good  for  me."  Barbara  was  not  with 
out  a  little  of  the  spirit  of  mischief,  and  seeing  Paul's 
happy  face,  said  to  him,  as  they  walked  to  the  table,  "Mr. 
Scudamore,  I  think  you  must  have  heard  some  news  of  your 
fine  horse  that  went  astray,  you  look  so  supremely  happy. 
Phoebe,  do  you  know  of  any  good  fortune  he  has  had 
lately  ?" 

Paul  answered  only  with  a  wide  grin,  and  increased  the 
pressure  on  Phcebe's  arm.  Phcebe,  returning  this  pressure, 
answered,  "I  think  you  are  right;  he  must  have  heard  news 
of  his  horse." 

"What  a  treasure  a  horse  is !"  said  Barbara.  "I  would 
be  willing  to  lose  both  Moth  and  Cobweb  for  a  time,  to  be 
made  as  happy  as  Mr.  Scudamore." 

It  does  not  take  much  to  make  happy  young  people 
merry,  and  this  simple  banter  of  Barbara's,  made  with  a 
half-sad  face,  set  the  young  people  all  a-grin.  They 
brought  up  the  rear  of  the  procession,  lighting  up  the  room 
with  their  bright  faces. 

The  usual  stiffness  which  seems  inseparable  from  dinner 
parties  infected  the  company  for  a  time,  no  one  venturing 
to  talk  farther  away  than  to  his  next  neighbor;  but  the 
tact  of  Thornton's  wife  and  his  unconventional  manner 
soon  dissipated  all  restraint,  and  the  talk  went  around  and 
across  the  table  very  freely.  The  lower  end  was  especially 
lively,  where  Russell  had  been  purposely  placed  with  the 
young  people.  He  was  giving  them  an  account  of  the 
troubles  and  jealousies  and  anxieties  and  disappointments 
of  his  love  affairs,  which  convulsed  Paul  and  Phcebe,  and 
made  Barbara  show  her  glistening  teeth  and  put  a  bright 
spark  in  her  eye. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  table  there  was  also  abundant 
good  humor.  Major  Tinsley  had  been  relating  some  of  his 
trading  experiences,  which  were  full  of  interest.  Nodding 
his  head  toward  Russell  at  the  other  end,  he  said,  "There's 
as  sharp  a  trader  as  I  have  ever  known/' 

"Why,"  said  Thornton,  "where  did  you  ever  know  him 
in  that  character?" 

"Oh,  I  used  to  deal  with  Chambers,  when  he  had  an 
interest  and  was  a  salesman  in  the  house,  and  I  have  had 


530  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

many  a  bout  with  him.  But  as  I  was  not  a  storekeeper,  and 
bought  for  family  and  plantation  use  only,  he  didn't  lay 
himself  out  for  me.  But  just  see  him  get  hold  of  a  coun 
try  storekeeper,  if  you  want  to  see  acting  and  hear  elo 
quence  !  I  was  in  the  store  once  when  he  had  in  tow  a 
man  from  my  part  of  the  country.  It  was  Saunders,  who 
then  kept  a  crossroads  store  in  the  county  where  I  then 
lived.  He  had  made  a  good  deal  of  money  by  close  dealing 
and  saving,  and  had  excellent  credit,  as  men  that  don't 
want  credit  always  have,  but  he  bought  for  cash  only.  He 
had  a  sharp  practice  of  often  changing  his  place  of  dealing, 
in  order  to  avail  himself  of  the  liberal  treatment  a  new 
customer  for  cash  always  receives.  He  prided  himself  not 
only  on  knowing  what  to  buy,  but  especially  when  to  buy 
everything.  That  day  he  had  already  bought  a  pretty  large 
bill  of  goods,  and  was  about  to  go  away,  when  Eussell,  as  if 
he  had  a  sudden  thought  of  something  important,  called 
him  back.  He  took  him  off  in  silence  a  short  distance,  out 
of  my  hearing ;  but  I  walked  nearer  to  them,  pretending  to 
look  at  some  door-fastenings  that  lay  on  the  counter,  and 
I  heard  the  whole  talk : 

"  'Mr.  Saunders,'  said  Russell,  looking  mighty  solemn^ 
and  speaking  very  slowly,  as  if  he  was  going  to  tell  some 
awful  mystery;  'Mr.  Saunders,  have  you  bought  enough 
gimlets  ?' 

"  'Well,  I  don't  know,'  said  Saunders,  looking  mighty 
serious;  'I  think  I  have.' 

"  'You  think  you  have !  Well,  perhaps  you  know  best ; 
but  let  me  tell  you  one  thing,'  and  then  he  looked  over  his 
shoulders  as  if  afraid  of  being  overheard;  and  then  he 
fastened  his  eyes  on  Saunders  and  looked  so  solemn  and 
mysterious  that  Saunders  turned  pale,  and  then  he  said, 
'Let — me — tell — you- — that — gimlets — are  going  to  be — 
gimlets !  You  had  better  take  a  barrel !'  And  he  did  take 
a  barrel.  I  shall  never  forget." 

Here  the  Major  was  overcome  by  a  sudden  fit  of  laughter, 
which  continued  for  some  time,  suspending  his  story.  Re 
covering  himself  and  wiping  his  eyes,  he  said,  "Oh,  I  am 
not  fit  to  tell  a  story,  because  I  can't  help  laughing  myself 
at  the  recollection  of  it,  and  that  spoils  everything."  But 


Table  Talk  531 

the  good  Major  was  in  error  there;  for  he  was  one  of  those 
rare  story-tellers  whose  laughter  was  not  the  affected  sniff 
ing  of  some  story-tellers,  but  genuine  and  hearty,  revealing 
only  his  simplicity  of  character,  and  instead  of  marring 
gave  increased  zest  to  his  story,  and  was  apt  to  infect  his 
whole  audience,  as  it  had  now  done.  Wiping  his  eyes  he 
continued : 

"I  shall  never  forget  that  barrel  of  gimlets — a  great 
hardware  barrel.  It  was  enough  to  supply  the  county  for 
five  years.  I  could  not  help  telling  the  story  when  I  went 
home,  and  the  mischievous  fellows  in  the  neighborhood  be 
deviled  Saunders  in  a  thousand  ways — until  you  couldn't 
say  anything  that  would  suggest  a  gimlet,  without  setting 
his  teeth  on  edge.  Of  course,  he  never  could  sell  half  of 
them  in  regular  trade;  so  he  took  to  giving  in  a  gimlet 
whenever  a  certain  amount  was  laid  out  in  goods — a  device 
he  had  once  practiced  with  an  overstock  of  Bibles — and  so  I 
believe  he  got  rid  of  them.  At  all  events  he  professed  that 
he  had,  for  I  went  there  once  to  buy  a  gimlet,  really  want 
ing  one,  and  could  not  help  laughing  a  little  when  I  asked 
for  it,  and  his  face  turned  as  red  as  a  turkey-cock's,  and 
he  protested  that  he  had  not  a  gimlet  in  the  house.  I  was 
sorry  I  had  told  the  story,  because  Saunders  never  went 
back  to  buy  of  that  house  any  more.  But  they  got  nearly 
every  other  storekeeper  in  our  region,  because  they  all  want 
ed  to  see  the  man  that  made  Saunders  buy  a  barrel  of  gim 
lets;  and  when  they  went  to  The  Falls  they  were  sure  to 
go  to  that  store  at  once;  and  all  Russell  needed  was  just 
to  lay  hands  on  them." 

"Is  that  the  rich  Saunders  lately  come  to  The  Falls?" 
some  one  asked. 

"The  same  man,"  replied  the  Major.  "He  enlarged  his 
business  very  much,  as  his  means  increased.  He  bought 
altogether  for  cash,  but  to  those  whom  he  knew  to  be  good 
he  sold  on  credit,  putting  on  a  great  profit.  Almost  all 
the  substantial  farmers  in  the  neighborhood  got  in  debt 
to  him.  At  the  end  of  the  year  all  his  accounts  were  set 
tled.  Where  the  parties  were  good  beyond  question,  he  took 
their  bonds,  bearing  interest,  requiring  these  to  be  renewed 
at  the  end  of  each  year,  compounding  the  interest.  When- 


532  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

ever  he  felt  the  least  doubt  of  the  sufficiency  of  a  debtor  he 
got  a  mortgage,  or,  if  this  was  refused,  brought  suit.  Thus 
by  easy  stages  he  wound  a  coil  about  men,  in  which  they 
were  powerless  to  resist  any  demand  he  might  make.  Many 
of  the  worthiest  farmers  in  the  neighborhood  were  half 
ruined  by  their  dealing  with  him,  and  very  few  escaped 
unhurt.  It  is  such  an  easy  thing  to  get  in  debt  when  you 
keep  a  running  account!  And  especially  when  nothing  is 
to  be  demanded  until  the  end  of  the  year;  and  then  only 
a  bond.  A  man  buys  a  thousand  unnecessary  things,  weak 
ening  every  day  his  power  of  self-denial,  and  at  last,  ac 
quiring  a  habit  of  buying,  can  hardly  quit  the  store  with 
out  having  something  charged. 

"There  was  young  Ball,  who  inherited  the  best  farm  in 
the  county,  without  a  dollar  of  incumbrance.  Saunders 
got  that  farm,  and  owns  it  now,  for  debt  incurred  in  that 
store ;  and,  by  the  war !  I  wouldn't  give  that  farm  for  all 
the  goods  Saunders  ever  had  in  his  house.  The  confounded 
fellow  knew  the  temper  of  every  man,  and  it  was  his  con 
stant  study  to  devise  schemes  to  get  them  into  debt.  Young 
Ball  was  an  easy  victim.  Like  most  young  men  that  come 
into  an  estate,  he  thought  there  could  be  no  end  to  it. 
Saunders  persuaded  him  to  build  a  new  house;  and  he  fur 
nished  all  the  lumber  and  other  materials.  You  see,  he 
had  every  carpenter  and  mason  and  millowner  in  his  debt, 
and  every  whisky-drinking  unfortunate,  and  he  worked  into 
that  house  nearly  every  bad  or  doubtful  debt  he  had  in  the 
county.  When  it  was  finished  he  supplied  all  the  furniture, 
looking-glasses,  etc.  Then  he  constantly  brought  on  showy 
trifles,  pictures  in  gilt  frames,  brackets  and  what-nots,  es 
pecially  to  catch  Ball's  fancy.  I  went  over  one  day  to  see 
the  young  fellow,  at  his  invitation,  and  he  took  me  over 
the  house  to  show  me  all  his  fine  things;  and  such  a  col 
lection  of  nothings !  I  declare,  I  think  he  had  a  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  gimcracks  in  one  room,  a  parlor  that  was 
kept  shut  up  nearly  all  the  time,  and  was  then  as  cold  as 
a  well. 

"When  the  hard  times  came  on,  and  the  money  was  all 
drawn  from  this  region  to  sustain  the  mother  bank  in 
Philadelphia,  Saunders  foreclosed  his  mortgage  and  bought 


Table  Talk  533 

in  the  farm — bought  everything — lock,  stock  and  barrel — 
and  owns  it  now.  He  served  many  others  in  the  same  way. 
Any  farmer  who  got  into  his  books,  except  he  was  excep 
tionally  cautious  and  firm,  was  sure  to  suffer  grievously. 
To  those  that  had  daughters  he  was  especially  dangerous. 
All  kinds  of  showy  finery  were  brought  on  from  Philadel 
phia — finery  that  had  gone  out  of  fashion  there,  and  was 
only  available  for  country  consumption.  Now,  who  can 
deny  anything  to  a  daughter — especially  when  there  is 
nothing  to  do  but  tell  Mr.  Saunders  to  charge  it  ?  I  could 
never  deny  my  daughter  anything.  I  never  waited  to  be 
asked  for  anything.  But  then  I  did  not  deal  in  this  line 
with  Saunders.  My  business  took  me  often  to  the  cities, 
especially  to  New  Orleans,  and  I  got  there  as  many  pretty 
things  as  she  desired.  I  always  carried  her  measure  with 
me,  and  it  was  easy  to  get  some  of  my  friends'  wives  to 
choose  the  stuffs  for  me,  and  have  the  things  made  in  the 
latest  fashion.  In  this  way  I  discovered  the  imposture  he 
was  practicing. 

"Upstairs  he  had  a  room  where  the  idle  young  fellows 
played  cards  and  learned  to  drink.  This  branch  of  the 
business  was  superintended  by  a  one-armed  fellow,  who 
could  shuffle  the  cards  in  a  wonderful  way,  with  his  one 
hand  and  the  stump  of  an  arm,  and  it  was  said  that,  at 
'all-fours/  he  could  turn  up  Jack  whenever  he  pleased. 
This  department  was  kept  going  day  and  night.  Often, 
passing  there  late  at  night,  I  have  seen  standing  at  the 
racks  a  long  row  of  horses,  many  of  which  I  recognized 
in  the  moonlight  as  belonging  to  young  men  of  the  neigh 
borhood,  and  some  to  men  by  no  means  young;  for  there 
are  always  a  few  old  bell-wethers  that  consort  with  the 
young  bucks. 

"How  many  families  there  were  brought  down  from  com 
fortable  independence  to  absolute  want,  by  the  various  de 
vices  of  this  fellow,  I  can't  pretend  to  state,  but  I  know 
that  the  whole  neighborhood  was  corrupted,  and  idleness 
and  drunkenness  and  gambling  became  the  rule.  There 
was  in  consequence  a  sensible  falling  off  in  the  average 
products  of  the  county,  both  in  quality  and  quantity.  I 
used  then  to  buy  nearly  all  the  fine  tobacco  made  there,  and 


534  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

I  noticed  this  falling  off.  Some  of  the  best  tobacco  growers 
neglected  their  crops  when  they  got  to  going  down  to 
Saunders's.  I  told  one  of  these,  when  I  was  looking  at  his 
tobacco,  that  it  had  too  much  crossroads  store  in  it,  and 
he  knew  at  once  what  I  meant;  and  the  phrase  is  current 
there  to  this  day. 

"I  hope  we  shall  never  have  a  crossroads  store  in  this 
Lastlands  settlement.  Better  a  race  track  and  a  cockpit, 
a  faro  bank,  a  roulette  table — any  or  all  the  vile  devices 
of  the  gambler — than  a  crossroads  store  with  a  whisky  at 
tachment  !" 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  talk  after  the  Major  had  con 
cluded  this  onslaught  upon  the  crossroads  stores.  Thornton 
was  the  first  to  break  the  silence.  "I  think,"  said  he,  "that 
a  trader,  as  they  say  of  the  poet,  is  born  not  made.  There 
is  a  peculiar  faculty,  a  rare  natural  endowment,  which  some 
men  possess,  by  which  they  not  only  get  the  better  of  all 
other  men,  in  trading,  but  prevail  over  such  as  are  averse 
to  trade,  overcoming  this  aversion  and  bargaining  with 
them  against  their  will.  Gabriel  Honore,  the  little  French 
man  at  The  Falls,  is  one  of  these  men. 

"When  I  was  a  real  estate  owner  in  town,  and  had  lots 
scattered  everywhere,  from  the  eastern  end  of  town  to  the 
foot  of  the  falls,  and  in  Portland,  I  was  one  day  approached 
by  Honore,  who  proposed  to  me  a  trade.  'How  would  you 
like/  said  he,  'to  trade  your  lots  on  Chestnut  street  for  a 
dwelling-house  and  lot  on  Jefferson — the  house  lately  built 
by-?' 

"I  answered  carelessly — I  know  not  what.  Then  he  asked 
me  if  I  would  look  at  his  property  and  give  him  an  answer, 
when  we  should  next  meet,  and  I  thoughtlessly  promised 
to  do  this.  Soon  afterward  I  saw  him  again,  when  he  hur 
ried  across  the  street  to  know  if  I  had  looked  at  his  house, 
as  I  had  promised  to  do,  and  speaking  as  if  a  trade  was 
already  afoot  between  us.  For  a  week  I  saw  him  every 
day,  and  each  time  he  would  rush  up  to  know  if  I  had  yet 
examined  his  property.  This  became  a  bore.  I  had  not  the 
least  notion  of  trading  with  him.  I  was  conscious  of  being 
in  fault,  in  not  going,  according  to  promise,  to  look  at  his 
house.  It  became  so  disagreeable  to  me  to  meet  him  that 


Table  Talk  535 

I  found  myself  one  day  dodging  him — going  into  a  place 
where  I  had  no  business — and  afterward  turning  out  of  my 
course,  when  I  saw  him  coming,  in  order  to  avoid  him.  A 
feeling  of  indignation  came  over  me  at  finding  myself  in 
this  condition,  and,  with  no  notion  of  trading  with  him, 
but  only  to  make  good  my  promise,  I  walked  out  to  look 
at  his  property,  barely  glanced  at  it  and  came  away.  Soon 
afterward  I  met  him  again.  This  time,  I  hardly  know 
why,  his  persistence  and  something  peculiar  in  his  manner 
roused  my  indignation.  I  found  myself  taking  refuge  from 
him  in  anger.  I  told  him  that  I  would  not  trade  property 
with  him  on  any  terms  whatsoever.  There  was  something 
in  the  air  of  that  little  Frenchman  that  filled  me  with  a 
vague  apprehension,  some  inscrutable  influence,  or  he  never 
could  have  made  me  dodge  him  as  I  had  done  or  forced  me 
to  be  impolite  and  to  take  refuge  in  ill-temper  to  get  rid 
of  him — never  in  the  world !" 

"Ye  may  well  say,"  exclaimed  Mclntyre,  "that  there  is 
a  mysterious  influence  about  that  little  Frenchman !  I  had 
a  passage  at  airms  with  him  myself.  He  tuck  a  fancy  to 
a  piece  of  property  of  mine — the  only  property  that  I  had 
ever  bought  as  an  investment,  and  that  yielded  me  fifteen 
per  cent,  per  annum — and  he  came  to  me  to  know  if  I 
would  sell  this  property.  I  said  no,  I  had  bought  it  as  an 
investment,  and  that  I  desired  to  hold  it  as  such.  Every 
where  that  I  met  him,  afterward,  he  renewed  the  subject. 
He  might  talk  of  other  matters  as  well,  but  he  was  sure 
to  come  back  to  that,  and  to  end  with  it,  as  Cato  was  with 
'Delenda  est  'Carthago.'  At  last  I  began  to  feel  what  Mr. 
Thornton  has  spoken  of  as  something  uncommon  in  the 
man — an  influence  under  which  I  felt  myself  succumbing 
day  by  day,  and  which  I  feared  would  one  day  be  the  means 
of  transferring  my  fine  property  to  the  hands  of  Monsieur 
Gabriel  Honore.  In  fact,  I  began  to  feel  that  he  dominated 
me;  that  under  him,  in  the  field  of  trade  at  least,  my 
janius  was  rebuked  by  his,  as  it  was  said  Mairk  Antony's 
was  by  Caysar*s. 

"Well,  at  last  we  came  together  one  day,  around  at  the 
stoneyaird.  The  men  were  just  going  away  to  dinner,  and 
he  had  me  quite  private. '  He  began  upqn.  me  at  gnce;  and 


536  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

he  talked  and  talked;  and  he  importwned  me,  and  impor- 
twned  me,  until  I  felt  my  fine  property  slipping  from  my 
hands !  At  last  I  said,  'Well,  Mr.  Honore,  supposing  I  was 
to  consent  to  part  with  the  property,  what  do  you  propose 
to  give  me  for  it — how  much,  and  on  what  terms?' 

"He  took  out  his  pencil  and  a  bit  of  paper,  which  he  put 
on  the  top  of  his  hat,  and  began  to  write  and  to  figure. 
Then,  after  a  little  study  of  the  paper,  he  said:  'I  will 
give  you  for  the  property  as  follows : 

"  'In  hardware  (including  grindstones) $1,500 

Acceptance  of  Griffith  for  lumber  (I  knew 

Griffith  to  be  in  a  failing  condition) 1,500 

Acceptance  of  Philips  for  brick  (Philips  was 

like  Griffith)    1,500' 

"There  he  paused,  and  as  there  remained  yet  a  large 
sum  to  be  provided  for,  granting  that  the  above  were  ac 
ceptable  to  me,  I  said,  'And  the  remainder,  I  presume,  will 
be  cash?' 

"  'Well,  not  exactly,'  he  replied. 

"For  the  remainder  he  offered  me — what  do  you  suppose, 
for  property,  mairk  ye,  yielding  fifteen  per  cent,  per  an 
num  ?  Ye'll  never  guess.  Nyther  you  nor  anny  man  that 
ever  lived  would  guess !  Ye  needn't  try.  Well,  he  offered 
me,  in  addition  to  the  above,  forty  barrels  of  Scotch  snuff! 
And  he  tuck  out  his  watch,  and  he  said,  'Mr.  Mclntyre,  I 
give  you  just  four  minutes  to  consider  it.'  And  before  I 
had  recovered  from  my  astonishment  he  had  gone !" 


CHAPTER  LVIII 

THE   EECTOR 

"I  venerate  the  man  whose  heart  is  warm, 
Whose  hands  are  pure,  whose  doctrine  and  whose  life, 
Coincident,  exhibit  proof 
That  he  is  honest  in  the  Sacred  Cause." 

IN  THE  course  of  the  years  of  John  D.'s  absence  notable 
changes  had  occurred  within  the  Lastlands  domain.  The 
mansion  had  been  never  without  its  skilful  carpenter  and 
joiner  working  under  Thornton's  supervision,  and  was  now 
completed.  The  church  building  of  "St.  John's  in  the 
Wilderness"  had  been  built  and  consecrated,  the  parish 
organized,  and  at  last  a  lay  reader  installed.  Mr.  Wall's 
school  had  increased  in  the  number  of  scholars  and  in 
wider  usefulness,  and  had  been  removed  into  the  parson 
age,  where  the  schoolmaster  and  the  reader,  with  old  Rachel 
as  cook  and  housekeeper,  and  old  Adam  as  major-domo, 
fisherman  and  sexton,  dwelt  together  in  congenial  assoeia- 
J'3n. 

The  undue  bulk  of  this  chronicle  forbids  more  than  a 
sketch  of  the  Rector  and  his  work  in  the  parish.  Had 
the  photographic  art  been  known  then  a  picture  of  him 
mounted  on  his  little,  grizzled,  slate-colored  pony,  his  fine 
martial  face,  his  figure,  slight  but  manly  and  graceful, 
posed  like  Napoleon's,  and  instinct  with  meditative 
thought,  as  if  he,  too,  were  planning  campaigns,  would 
give  a  clearer  idea  of  the  man  than  any  words.  His  time 
was  given  to  bringing  people  into  the  church.  Out  among 
the  hill  people  was  the  chief  field  of  his  labor,  visiting 
them  in  sickness,  bearing  restoratives  as  well  for  the  body 
as  for  the  soul;  inviting  them  to  the  church  and  their 
children  to  the  Sunday-school,  not  thrusting  either  upon 
them,  but  showing  both  to  be  in  the  line  of  duty,  He 

537 


538  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

seldom  visited  the  wealthier  people  in  the  parish.  For  this 
he  said  he  had  not  time.  The  greater  need  in  the  hills 
required  it  all. 

One  day  when  Thornton  and  Major  Tinsley  went  to  visit 
one  of  the  people  in  the  hills,  where  the  only  daughter  of 
a  very  intelligent  but  obstinate  unbeliever  lay  sick  and 
like  to  die,  they  found  there  the  Rector  with  the  doctor. 
When  the  doctor  had  prepared  and  administered  his  medi 
cine  and  had  gone  away,  evidently  regarding  the  case  as 
well-nigh  hopeless,  the  Rector  said,  with  a  confident  and 
inspiring  air,  "There  is  but  one  sure  place  to  seek  help 
in  such  a  case  as  this.  Let  us  kneel  down  and  pray  to 
the  good  God  of  heaven."  Then,  at  once  falling  upon  his 
knees,  in  which  he  was  joined  by  the  mother  and  Thorn 
ton, — by  all  except  the  obstinate  father,  who  only  bowed 
his  head, — he  prayed  in  simple  earnest  words  for  the  merci 
ful  interposition  of  Heaven. 

Leaving  the  Rector  behind,  Thornton  and  the  Major 
went  away  homeward  and  were  soon  after  engaged  in  talk 
about  him.  "Do  you  know,"  said  the  Major,  "that  little 
parson  puzzles  me  more  than  any  man  I  ever  knew.  Some 
how,  I  can't  get  on  easy  terms  with  him.  There  is  some 
thing  about  him  that  fends  me  off.  I  invite  him  to  come 
to  see  me,  to  come  to  dinner  at  any  or  all  times,  and  he 
promises  in  a  general  way,  but  always  declines  a  special 
invitation,  pleading  other  engagements.  He  looks  more 
like  a  soldier  than  a  parson,  and  I'll  lay  a  wager  that  if 
pushed  he  would  throw  off  the  canonicals  and  fight." 

"No,"  said  Thornton ;  "I  think  not.  He  is  only  of  the 
Church  militant,  to  fight  against  sin,  the  world,  and  the 
devil.  He  has  puzzled  me,  too.  Though  I  have  been 
closely  associated  with  him  in  the  organization  of  the 
parish,  when  he  was  my  guest,  yet,  as  you  say,  he  fends 
me  off  by  an  inscrutable,  impalpable  barrier.  My  wife  has 
observed  the  same  thing.  Women  have  more  penetration 
than  men,  and  perhaps  her  explanation  is  true.  She  says 
that  he  is  so  absorbed  in  his  clerical  duties  that  he  makes 
light  of  merely  social  obligations — that  he  seems  always  as 
if  saying  with  the  Divine  Master,  'Wist  ye  not  that  I  must 
j)e  about  my  Father's  business  ?' " 


The  Sector  539 

On  the  way,  Thornton  and  the  Major  were  overtaken  by 
the  Eector,  who,  on  Thornton's  invitation,  accompanied 
them  to  Lastlands,  where  he  drank  a  glass  of  wine  and 
begged  for  a  bottle,  and  got  two,  for  some  sick  parishioners, 
and  was  going  away,  when  Major  Tinsley  said,  "Mr.  Rid 
ley,  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  have  a  full  supply  of  wine 
and  other  restoratives  for  the  sick,  including  some  very  old 
whisky,  and  that  it  is  all  at  your  service."  The  Rector 
rewarded  the  Major  with  a  bright  smile,  and  assured  him 
that  he  should  not  be  forgotten ;  and  then,  putting  the  wine 
into  his  saddle-bags,  rode  away.  The  Major  watched  him 
from  the  veranda  until  he  disappeared  in  the  valley  of  the 
Anser,  and  then  said,  with  a  merry  chuckle,  "He  is  far 
from  being  a  gloomy  parson.  If  he  pulled  a  long  face 
maybe  I  should  understand  him,  but  he  relishes  a  good  joke 
as  much  as  any  man,  and  often  in  his  addresses  on  the 
business  of  the  parish,  and  sometimes  in  a  sermon,  makes 
a  smile  go  round  the  house.  I  wish  he  would  take  a  liking 
to  me !  I  have  a  kind  of  yearning  for  him,  but  somehow 
he  fends  me  off.  Perhaps  it  is  as  your  wife  says :  he  is  too 
busy  with  his  clerical  duties  to  look  after  a  worldling  like 
me.  He  is  the  veriest  priest  I  ever  knew.  Moreover,  I  like 
his  short  sermons,  each  enforcing  some  religious  duty,  plain 
and  sensible,  and  manifestly  preached  altogether  for  the 
good  of  his  flock  and  not  at  all  for  his  own  glory/' 


CHAPTER  LIX 
PHCEBE'S  WEDDING 

"The  night  of  sorrow  now  is  turned  to  day, 

Her  two  blue  windows  faintly  she  upheaveth, 
Like  the  fair  Sun,  when  in  his  fresh  array 
He  cheers  the  morn,  and  all  the  world  relieveth." 

A  VERY  large  company  was  assembled  at  the  wedding  of 
Paul  and  Phoebe,  most  of  the  leading  planters  being  repre 
sented.  From  over  the  Ridge  came  Phoebe's  brothers,  with 
their  wives,  and  a  large  delegation  of  the  belles  and  beaux 
of  that  happy,  unconventional  region.  But  for  the  expedi 
ent  suggested  by  Thornton  and  carried  out  under  his  super 
vision, — cutting  down  some  windows  to  the  floor,  and  en 
closing  with  canvas  the  veranda  upon  which  these  opened, 
— there  would  hardly  have  been  standing  room  for  the 
great  throng.  The  Rector  arrived  in  good  time,  arrayed 
in  his  surplice,  and,  with  his  usual  directness  and  prac 
ticality  and  economy  of  time,  startled  the  parties  most 
interested  by  an  immediate  summons  to  the  performance 
of  the  ceremony.  Phoebe  came  in  on  Paul's  arm,  looking 
pale  but  self-possessed,  while  Paul's  accustomed  self-pos 
session  was  seriously  impaired.  Having  taken  their  places, 
surrounded  by  a  circle  of  parents  and  friends,  the  Rector 
opened  his  book  and  was  about  to  begin  the  ceremonial, 
when  a  loud  shout  and  an  angry  exclamation  was  heard 
from  the  door  that  opened  into  the  garden,  and  young 
Hugh  Vaughn  rushed  before  the  bridal  party,  giving  utter 
ance  to  threats  and  violent,  incoherent  talk,  and  drawing 
a  pistol  pointed  it  at  the  breast  of  Paul;  the  little  Rector 
promptly  seized  the  arm  of  Hugh,  and,  Thornton  coming 
to  his  aid,  the  weapon  was  wrenched  from  his  hand.  The 
bridal  party  scattered  away,  all  but  Barbara,  who  stood 
her  ground  and  had  come  to  the  aid  of  the  Rector,  even 
before  Thornton's  strong  arm  had  interposed, 

540 


Phoebe's  Wedding  541 

And  now  all  was  confusion.  Old  Vaughn  seemed  help 
less,  and  did  nothing  toward  the  control  of  Hugh,  who, 
manifestly  under  the  influence  of  drink,  continued  to  strug 
gle,  and  to  threaten,  and  protest  that  the  wedding  should 
not  go  on.  The  Rector  firmly  advised  that  Hugh  should 
be  put  under  control  at  once;  by  force,  if  necessary.  But 
nothing  could  be  done  without  the  concurrence  of  the  fa 
ther,  and  he  remained  impassive  and  silent,  except  some 
mournful  sighing  and  groaning ;  seeming  incapable  of  exer 
cising  his  authority  over  his  spoiled  Benjamin,  who,  being 
now  released  from  restraint,  quickly  made  his  way  out  of 
the  house.  Meantime,  Phrebe  had  fled  to  her  chamber, 
where  she  remained,  attended  by  her  mother  and  Barbara, 
overcome  by  apprehension  of  danger  to  Paul,  and  afraid 
to  return  to  the  rooms  below,  lest  she  might  bring  disaster 
upon  him.  The  Rector,  having  advised  the  proper  course 
to  be  pursued  with  the  rebellious  Hugh,  and  failing  to  get 
the  concurrence  of  the  father,  now  sat  rigidly  in  his  seat, 
with  a  countenance  more  soldierly  than  clerical,  awaiting 
the  course  of  events. 

For  an  hour  or  longer  this  mortifying  state  of  things 
continued  unchanged;  Phoebe  in  her  chamber,  and  Paul 
below,  receiving  sympathy  from  all.  Then  Major  Tinsley 
and  Mr.  Davis  and  Mr.  Sterrett  came  together,  and  with 
one  accord  made  a  demand  upon  old  Vaughn  that  some 
thing  decisive  should  be  done,  and,  backed  by  the  mother 
of  Phoebe,  they  brought  him  to  declare  that  the  wedding 
should  at  once  go  on.  The  bridal  party  was  accordingly 
assembled  once  more,  when  a  second  attempt  was  made  by 
Hugh,  backed  by  some  one  whom  Thornton  thought  he 
recognized  as  young  Spring,  but  who  hastily  retreated.  In 
this  instance  Hugh  was  promptly  seized  by  his  oldest 
brother  and  again  disarmed,  and  being  now  found  still 
more  under  the  influence  of  drink  and  helpless,  he  was  de 
livered  into  the  hands  of  his  mother,  who  led  him  away, 
and  soon  after  returning  and  reporting  him  asleep,  and 
under  lock  and  key,  the  wedding  was  consummated.  Then 
the  Rector,  saluting  the  bride,  and  heartily  shaking  Paul's 
hand,  bade  good-night  and  went  away. 

And  now  a  cadaverous-looking  man,  a  sectarian  preacher 


542  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

who  had  been  conspicuous  during  the  evening  by  his  con 
stant  proximity  to  old  Hugh  Vaughn,  and  by  frequent 
efforts  to  get  the  attention  of  the  mother,  cried  out  in  a 
loud  voice,  "My  Christian  friends,"  arresting  at  once  the 
attention  of  all.  And  then,  after  representing  himself  as 
a  former  friend  and  spiritual  mentor  of  the  family,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  make,  in  a  drawling,  sing-song  manner,  a  long, 
rambling  address,  and  followed  this  with  a  prayer,  which 
lasted  still  longer,  and  which  at  the  end  left  the  company 
in  a  state  of  mind  better  suited  to  a  funeral  than  a  wed 
ding. 

Paul  and  Phcebe  were  heartily  congratulated  by  their 
friends  on  all  sides;  but  no  inclination  was  shown  to  fol 
low  with  the  usual  dancing  and  gaiety.  The  solemn,  long 
address  and  prayer  of  the  sectarian  preacher  seemed  to 
have  taken  all  the  good  spirits  out  of  the  company.  The 
young  women  were  seated  along  the  walls,  and  the  young 
men  gathered  in  groups,  silent  or  speaking  only  in  whis 
pers.  Thornton  and  Major  Tinsley  set  about  removing  this 
unseemly  gravity,  and  now  went  among  the  young  people, 
using  their  best  efforts  to  that  end.  But  more  active  than 
all  in  this  good  work  was  old  Mr.  Davis,  who  bustled  about 
everywhere,  chatting  and  laughing  in  his  merry  way,  and 
lighting  up  the  room  with  his  bright,  rosy  face  and  wide 
expanse  of  shirt-collar  and  white  waistcoat.  But  no  effort 
seemed  to  avail  to  remove  the  solemnity  which  weighed 
like  a  funeral  pall  upon  the  company.  At  last,  thinking 
this  all  due  to  the  gloomy  discourse  and  the  presence  of  the 
preacher,  who  sat  conspicuous  near  the  sideboard,  with  his 
mouth  screwed  down  like  an  undertaker's,  Mr.  Davis 
walked  over  and  took  a  seat  close  by  him.  "Well,  mein 
froind,"  he  said,  slapping  him  on  the  knee  and  making  him 
start  and  stare  with  an  air  of  offended  dignity,  "how  does 
you  find  you'self  dis  ebening?  Doan'  you  feel  yo'  heart 
e'spand  itself  in  such  happy  time  like  dis  weddin',  und  in 
der  midcht  of  so  many  young  beebles  ?" 

The  preacher  continued  to  stare,  but  with  a  perplexed 
look  as  he  met  the  fearless,  honest  eyes  of  the  old  Switzer. 
He  made  no  answer,  but  only  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  "Wat 
ish  der  matter  mit  you,  mein  froind — is  you  seek  ?" 


Phoebe's  Wedding  543 

"No,  I  am  not  sick." 

"What  make  you  geef  such  big  sigh,  den  ?" 

"Because  I  am  thinking  what  a  great  sinner  I  am." 

"Ah!  is  dot  so?  What  has  you  been  doing?  You  haf 
kill  somebody,  hey?" 

"Oh,  no !" 

"What  haf  you  been  doing  so  bad  ?" 

"Oh,  nothing  in  particular,  nothing  in  particular.  I  am 
thinking  of  my  shortcomings,  of  my  unworthiness,  and  how 
fleshly  I  am." 

"But  you  ain't  fleshly;  you  are  poor  and  weak.  Dot's 
what's  der  matter  mit  you." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  that;  I  mean  I  am  thinking  what 
great  sinners  we  all  are,  lusting  after  the  flesh  and  the 
things  of  this  world.  We  must  watch  and  pray,  watch  and 
pray !" 

"Yes,  mein  froind,  we  muz  watch  and  pray;  watch  dot 
we  do  not  forget  our  neighbor,  und  pray  dot  der  good  Lord 
will  mercifully  forgeef  our  sins  und  der  sins  of  our  enemy 
und  dose  dot  despitefully  use  us,  und  geef  us  strenk  for  all 
duty.  But,  mein  froind,  der  good  Lord  haf  spread  before 
us  beautiful  things  for  our  pleasure,  und  good  -things  for 
our  use — der  kindly  fruits  of  der  earth;  uud  sure  He 
means  dot  we  shall  enjoy  dose.  Und  I  think  dot  He  will 
not  feel  well  dispose  to  a  man  dot  refuse  to  take  what  He 
haf  so  kindly  offer.  Now,  mein  froind,  you  haf  low  spirits, 
because  you  are  not  strong  and  hearty  like  me.  Come !  let 
us  take  a  little  wine  for  our  stomachs'  sake ;  it  will  do  you 
goot." 

"Ah,  well — I  am  sure — if  you  think  I  need  it — " 

"Ah,  dot  is  right." 

Then  Mr.  Davis  quickly  filled  a  glass  of  wine,  and  hand 
ed  it  to  the  preacher,  who  sipped  it  gingerly  at  first,  and 
then  emptied  it  at  a  draught.  Then  Mr.  Davis  went  to  the 
sideboard,  where  were  arrayed  bottles  of  wine  and  glasses, 
and,  turning  about  so  as  to  face  the  company  and  draw 
all  eyes  upon  himself,  delivered  in  a  clear,  emphatic  tone 
the  following  short  address : 

"Mein  froinds,  der  goot  Book  tells  us  dere  is  a  time  to 


544  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

mourn,  und  dere  is  a  time  to  dance.  At  funeral  be  sad; 
but  at  weddin'  be  merry.  Und  der  first  miracle  which  our 
Saviour  haf  perform  was  to  make  wine  for  der  weddin'. 
Now,  here  is  some  wine,  und  I  brobose  dot  we  shall  all  take 
a  leetle  wine,  und  wish  healt'  and  brosberity  to  der  bride 
und  groom." 

Then  addressing  the  preacher  he  said:  "Come,  mein 
froind,  let  us  set  a  goot  example  to  der  young  beebles." 

Then  Mr.  Davis  and  the  preacher  again  took  something 
for  their  stomachs'  sake,  the  preacher  finding  some  whisky 
on  the  sideboard  and  taking  this  instead  of  wine.  Mr. 
Davis  then  invited  all  that  wished  to  pledge  the  bride  and 
groom  to  come  forward,  especially  those  who  hoped  here 
after  to  follow  their  good  example.  Those  who  would  be 
old  maids  and  old  bachelors  would  be  excused.  Then  there 
was  a  general  movement  toward  the  sideboard,  where  Mr. 
Davis  officiated,  helping  them  all  to  wine,  and  keeping  the 
strong  drink  in  the  background. 

While  this  good  work  went  t>n,  Major  Tinsley  addressed 
himself  to  the  musicians.  Seeing  them  wandering  on  the 
skirts  of  the  throng,  disconsolate,  like  men  whose  occupa 
tion  was  gone,  he  cheered  each  of  them  with  a  glass  of 
whisky.  Then,  instructing  them  to  take  their  places  on 
the  stand,  he  went  back  to  the  dancing-room. 

Stirred  by  the  draught  administered  by  the  Major,  Bob 
Walker,  followed  by  the  second  violin  and  the  old  violon 
cello  player,  made  his  way  through  the  throng  of  young 
people  to  the  music  stand.  Taking  up  his  "brisk  awaken 
ing  viol,"  he  touched  it  very  lightly  with  his  bow,  and,  ac 
companied  by  the  other  instruments,  sent  through  the  room, 
in  a  low,  musical  whisper,  the  lively  notes  of  "Moni-musk." 
Instantly  there  was  commotion  on  every  hand ;  and  as  the 
strain  grew  louder  the  commotion  grew;  and  when  the 
leader  called  out,  "Gentlemen  will  please  take  partners  for 
a  reel,"  'and  put  his  whole  force  into  the  strain,  there  was 
a  rushing  of  young  men  hither  and  thither,  and  a  scene 
of  utter  confusion.  But  as  their  elders  fell  back  to  the 
wall,  and  the  young  people  with  beaming  faces  tripped  to 
the  ring,  now  forming,  all  confusion  was  at  an  end.  Then 
the  leader  waved  his  magical  bow; 


Phoebe's  Wedding  545 

"While  as  his  flying  fingers  kissed  the  strings, 
Love  framed  with  mirth  a  gay  fantastic  round." 

The  fame  of  the  leader,  Bob  Walker,  "Old  Bob  Walker" 
of  a  later  day,  has  come  down  even  to  the  present  time. 
He  was  a  master  of  his  art,  and  had  a  genius  for  reels.  He 
loved  to  play  for  expert  dancers.  He  had  been  heard  to 
say  that  he  would  get  out  of  bed  at  any  time  of  night,  and 
walk  a  mile  through  the  snow,  to  play  reels  for  a  set  of 
good  dancers.  He  watched  with  interest  the  movements 
of  those  now  on  the  floor,  and  there  was  a  gleam  of  pleasure 
in  his  eyes  when  he  saw  that  they  were  all  experts;  that 
there  was  no  lagging  or  jostling;  that  all  the  movements 
were  made  in  time;  each  of  the  changing  figures  of  the 
"quick  revolving  dance"  fitted  to  its  appropriate  strain ;  in 
short,  that  they  were  all,  as  he  expressed  it,  "dancers  in 
their  hearts."  To  the  delighted  Major  Tinsley,  as  he  went 
out  with  him  at  the  end  of  the  reel  to  take  another  glass,  he 
said,  "I've  got  a  fine  set  of  dancers  to-night.  Those  young 
people  from  over  the  Ridge  are  old  hands.  They  are  regu 
lars.  They've  been  dancing  reels  pretty  much  all  their 
lives.  They  begin  over  there  as  soon  as  they  can  stand 
alone.  But  I  didn't  think  these  Lastlands  gentry  could 
dance  as  well.  I  was  afraid  they  had  been  spoiled  by 
French  dances,  like  the  people  about  The  Falls.  Those  old 
French  have  ruined  all  the  dancers  about  there,  with  cotil 
lions;  and,  what's  worse,  the  thing  is  spreading  over  the 
land,  and  it  ain't  everywhere  now  that  you  can  find  a  set 
that  can  go  through  a  reel  all  smooth  and  regular.  But 
this  set  can  do  it.  I  am  going  to  give  them  some  lively 
music  for  the  next  dance.  Just  wait  until  I  play  'The 
Gust  Upon  the  Tasseling  Corn';  then  you  will  see  dan 
cing  !" 

When  he  returned  to  the  dancing-room  the  Major  met 
Joe  Sterrett  eagerly  looking  for  a  partner  for  the  next  reel. 
"Why,  Joe,"  said  the  Major,  "you  can't  keep  step  with 
these  young  people.  They  will  take  the  breath  out  of  you 
in  no  time." 

"We'll  see  about  that,"  said  Sterrett,  "if  I  can  only  find 
a  partner.  I'd  take  my  wife,  but  she  is  out  of  training, 


546  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

and  couldn't  stand  the  pace."  And  then  he  hurried  away 
in  quest  of  a  partner. 

Walker  had  given  notice  that  he  had  only  been  breathing 
them,  with  a  light  dance,  and  that  they  should  now  have 
something  to  try  their  mettle.  There  was  mischief  in  his 
eyes  as  he  mounted  the  stand  for  the  second  reel.  He 
flourished  about  with  a  varied  prelude  until  the  ring  was 
formed.  Then  bending  over  his  fiddle,  and  hugging  it  to 
his  breast,  and  scowling  at  it,  and  tearing  at  its  strings 
with  his  bow,  as  if  to  wrench  from  its  very  heart  the  most 
potent  sounds  it  owned,  and  playing  only  upon  the  third 
and  fourth  strings,  he  drew  from  these  a  strange,  wild 
strain,  which,  while  it  put  grave,  set  faces  upon  the  dancers, 
yet  set  them  going  as  if  possessed.  Again  and  again  with 
this  he  whirled  them  round  and  round.  Then  the  air 
passed  by  gradual  transition  into  a  new  strain;  and  when 
the  partners  went  down  the  middle,  he  had  released  his 
fiddle  from  the  close  embrace,  and  holding  it  high  in  air, 
his  head  thrown  back,  his  eyes  half  closed,  evoked  a  strain 
so  light  and  sparkling,  and  so  full  of  the  essence  of  mirth, 
that  it  put  a  smile  on  every  face,  and  extorted  from  some 
of  the  excited  dancers  shouts  of  merriment.  The  even  fall 
of  so  many  light  feet  made  the  stout  timbers  of  old 
Vaughn's  house  creak,  and  moved  the  glasses  on  the  side 
board  into  responsive  dancing  and  tinkling. 

Major  Tinsley's  face  glowed  with  pleasure.  "Thornton," 
he  cried,  "look  at  Joe  Sterrett.  He  has  Miss  Barbara  for 
a  partner ;  bless  my  soul,  how  they  dance !" 

And  sure  enough,  there  were  Joe  and  Barbara  in  the 
reel ;  and  when  their  time  came  to  go  down  the  middle,  he 
might  well  say,  "How  they  dance !"  Joe  had  been  famous 
in  his  younger  days,  and  now  his  good  spirits  and  his  agil 
ity  had  come  back  to  him,  and  the  nimbleness  and  grace 
with  which  he  cut  the  pigeon's  wing,  and  made  the  various 
steps  in  the  lively  dance,  was  delightful  to  behold.  And 
Barbara !  What  can  be  said  of  Barbara  ?  No  fairy  in  Ti- 

tania's  train, 

"In  grove  or  green, 
By  fountain  clear  or  spangled  starlight's  sheen" — 

But,  alack!  this  chronicler  is  like  old  Richelieu  trying  to 


Phoebe's  Wedding  547 

wield  the  sword  of  his  youth.  Let  the  reader  fill  a  wide 
hiatus  here  with  his  own  ideal  of  a  dancing  nymph. 

The  old  violoncello  player,  who  had  always  spoken  con 
temptuously  of  reels,  seemed  greatly  pleased  with  this.  His 
eyes  glowed,  and  his  face  responded  to  the  various  emo 
tions  excited  by  the  music;  his  elbows  worked  like  mad; 
and  at  the  end,  with  many  nods  of  approbation,  he  put  out 
his  hand  and  gave  the  leader  a  hearty  shake. 

Major  Tinsley  sought  Barbara  and  Sterrett,  and  com 
plimented  them  over  and  over;  and  laughed  from  sheer 
good  spirits  until  he  was  obliged  to  wipe  his  eyes.  And 
then,  as  Barbara,  releasing  Sterrett,  took  her  place  by  the 
Major's  side,  and  clasped  his  arm,  he  sighed  in  the  old,  sad 
way,  as  the  remembrance  of  his  early  loss  came  over  him, 
and  he  thought,  for  the  thousandth  time,  what  "might 
have  been." 

"The  Gust  Upon  the  Tasseling  Corn"  has  come  down  to 
our  day  under  various  names,  but  so  marred  by  transmis 
sion  through  unskilful  hands  that  its  author,  if  alive,  would 
hardly  know  it.  It  was  thought  to  depict  the  scene  its 
name  suggests;  but  it  belongs  to  a  class  higher  than  any 
imitative  or  descriptive  music.  It  might  as  well  suggest 
the  tumult  made  by  the  gust  upon  the  tasseling  corn,  or 
a  charge  at  double-quick  upon  a  field  of  battle,  or 

"The  riot  of  the  tipsy  Bacchanals 
Tearing  the  Thracian  singer  in  their  rage," 

or  any  other  fierce,  swift  thing.  Description  seems  beyond 
the  scope  of  musical  expression.  Certainly,  no  descriptive 
music,  "in  the  large  list  that  he  has  coped  withal,"  speaks 
to  this  chronicler's  condition,  but  seems  all  sorry  stuff; 
from  "The  Battle  of  Prague"  down  to  that  inscrutable  la 
ment — that  slow  tune  always  played  when  the  horse  lies 
down  in  the  circus. 

Of  music,  and  of  poetry,  the  subtlest  charm  lies  in  a 
quality  the  very  opposite  of  descriptive — in  a  certain  in- 
definiteness  through  which,  as  through  a  mystical  veil,  we 
see  earthly  beauty  transfigured,  or  hear  sounds  celestial,  but 
vague  as  echoes  of 

"The  horns  of  elfland  faintly  blowing." 


548  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

But  to  our  chronicle :  While  what  has  been  related  was 
transpiring  within  the  house,  something  was  going  on  out  of 
doors  which  it  now  imports  the  reader  to  know.  Soon  after 
the  assembling  of  the  company  a  violent  rain  had  come  on, 
with  thunder  and  lightning;  one  of  those  sudden  storms 
that  at  this  season  keep  up  the  semblance  of  summer,  and 
help  to  justify  its  name  of  Indian  summer.  Quickly,  after 
the  manner  of  summer  storms,  it  gave  way  to  bright  moon 
light,  passing  away  to  the  northeast,  where,  among  the  hills 
from  which  the  branch  derives  its  waters,  it  made  a  stand, 
and  there  for  some  hours  volleyed  and  thundered.  In  the 
area  where  the  carriages  of  the  guests  were  collected  were 
then  three  men  seeking  shelter  from  the  storm.  They  were 
young  Hugh  Vaughn,  Williams,  and  our  old  acquaintance, 
Spring.  Hugh  had  found  Williams  a  near  neighbor  of  the 
friends  he  visited  in  Missouri,  and  their  old  acquaintance 
had  soon  warmed  into  liveliest  friendship.  The  association 
with  Hugh  soon  revived,  in  all  its  pristine  vigor,  the  love  of 
Williams  for  Phoebe,  and  with  a  vague  hope  suggested  by 
Hugh's  boyish  zeal  in  championing  his  cause,  when  Hugh 
was  summoned  home  to  the  wedding  Williams  resolved 
to  accompany  him.  On  the  way  (just  how  or  where  this 
chronicler  is  unable  to  state)  they  met  Spring,  who  joined 
them  and  came  with  them  to  the  Lastlands  neighborhood. 
It  was  natural  for  a  vigilant  rogue  like  Spring  to  make 
mischief  out  of  this  opportunity,  and  by  suggestions  to 
Williams,  that  his  ill-success  in  his  wooing  was  due  to 
the  influence  of  Thornton  and  his  household,  to  seek  to 
avenge  himself  through  Williams.  And  young  Hugh,  weak 
and  spoiled  by  indulgence,  was  as  wax  in  his  hands.  The 
association  with  Hugh,  and  now  the  return  to  the  scene 
of  his  early  love-making,  kindled  in  the  passionate  heart 
of  Williams  the  very  frenzy  of  love.  And  the  remembrance 
of  his  mortification  and  disgrace  (as  he  considered  his  de 
feat  by  Thornton)  and  of  being  compromised  by  the  sus 
picious  circumstances  under  which  he  had  been  found  hurt 
under  the  stile  at  Lastlands — all  these  memories  pressed 
upon  his  mind  and  embittered  it;  and  now  demoralized 
by  a  habit  of  drink,  lie,  also,  seemed  a  practicable  instru 
ment  in  the  hands  of  a  mischief-maker  so  adroit  as  Spring. 


Phoebe's  Wedding  549 

Together  they  had  inspired  the  interference  of  Hugh  with 
the  wedding,  and  had  provided  the  pistol  with  which  he 
had  entered  the  room.  And  now,  in  the  shelter  of  one  of 
the  carriages,  they  were  conspiring  further  mischief  in  the 
same  direction. 

Elijah  was  one  of  the  outside  attendants  of  the  wedding, 
one  of  the  throng  of  negro  coachmen,  and  lackeys,  and 
ladies'  maids,  which  constituted  the  high-life  below-stairs 
of  that  time.  It  chanced  before  the  storm  they  had  organ 
ized  a  dance  on  the  green,  where,  closely  attended  by 
Elijah,  Jane  had  displayed  her  fine-lady  airs.  It  chanced 
that  when  the  storm  came  up,  he  had  taken  shelter  under 
the  carriage  in  which  the  three  conspirators  were  concealed. 
He  heard  enough,  above  the  noise  of  the  storm  and  the 
beating  rain,  to  make  known  some  purpose  of  mischief. 
And  as  the  storm  abated  and  they  continued  to  speak  in 
the  loud  tone  made  necessary  in  its  height,  lie  heard  enough 
to  show  that,  after  the  failure  to  stop  the  wedding,  some 
hostile  proceeding  was  meditated  against  his  master.  This 
was  after  the  bridal  party  had  been  a  second  time  assembled 
for  the  ceremony,  when  they  had  again  armed  young  Hugh, 
and  put  him  forward  in  that  second  attempt,  the  failure  of 
which  has  been  related.  Spring  had  accompanied  Hugh 
within  the  door,  pushing  him  on,  but  retreating  when  he 
had  seen  him  fairly  in  the  room.  Then,  from  the  edge 
of  the  throng  having  witnessed  Hugh's  fiasco,  and  the  wed 
ding  ceremony,  he  went  back  to  Williams,  to  whom  he  an 
nounced  the  failure  and  the  fact  that  the  wedding  was 
over.  Then  Williams,  maddened  by  rage  and  drink,  fell 
into  the  wildest  raving ;  threatening  vengeance  against  Paul 
and  abusing  all  whom  he  believed  to  have  been  adverse  to 
his  love.  Then  Spring  artfully  suggested  that  he  might 
lie  in  wait  on  the  road  home,  and  have  it  out  with  Thornton 
there.  But  it  was  not  easy  to  divert  him,  and  his  hostility 
and  all  thoughts  of  vengeance  were  now  concentrated  upon 
Paul.  Fearing  that  his  ravings  would  reach  the  ears  of 
others,  Spring  drew  Williams  away  into  the  garden,  and 
thence  down  into  a  pasture  where  their  horses  were  tied. 
There  they  remained  some  time,  Spring  continuing  his 
efforts  to  turn  the  wrath  of  Williams  against  Thornton. 


550  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

He  succeeded  only  so  far  as  to  have  Thornton  included  in 
his  blacklist.  Then  Williams  insisting  upon  going  back 
once  more  to  the  house,  more  drink  was  taken,  and  they 
went  thither.  There  Williams  insisted  on  going  where  he 
could  see  the  wedding  party,  and,  accompanied  by  Spring, 
he  looked  through  an  open  window,  and  seeing  Phcebe  in 
her  bridal  array,  in  a  group  with  Paul,  and  Barbara,  and 
Thornton,  he  fell  into  such  a  violent  rage  that  Spring  drew 
him  away  with  much  difficulty  into  the  garden,  and  thence 
down  again  where  their  horses  were  fastened. 

It  was  known  to  them  that  Barbara  and  Thornton  had 
walked  from  Lastlands,  going  by  a  short  route,  on  which 
stepping-stones  were  placed  for  crossing  the  branch,  the 
usual  way  pursued  by  all  that  went  afoot  between  Last- 
lands  and  Vaughn's ;  and  they  knew  now  that  the  stepping- 
stones  were  flooded  by  the  rising  of  the  branch,  which  could 
be  heard  in  the  stillness  roaring  aloud,  and  that  the  only 
practicable  route  homeward  was  by  the  bridge  over  the 
branch,  at  Thornton's  cattle-barn.  Spring  now  again  sug 
gested  the  opportunity  for  Williams  to  get  even  with  his 
old  enemy.  "He  will  be  alone,"  he  said,  "or  as  good  as 
alone ;  nobody  with  him  but  that  little  vixen,  Miss  Peyton, 
and  if  you  just  smack  her  over,  she  will  get  no  more  than 
she  deserves,  and  there  will  be  no  danger  of  interference." 

Williams  started  at  this  as  from  some  poisonous  sting, 
and  seizing  Spring  by  the  wrists,  wrenched  his  arms  apart, 
stretching  them  as  if  about  to  sunder  them  from  his  body ; 
and,  while  Spring  writhed  with  pain,  he  cursed  him :  "You 
damned  weasel,  if  you  talk  to  me  of  striking  a  woman  I'll 
pull  you  to  pieces  like  a  boy  does  a  grasshopper !  You  mis 
erable  devil !"  Then,  suddenly  loosing  his  gripe,  he  let  him 
drop  all  relaxed  to  the  ground,  where  he  lay  whining. 

After  a  while  Spring  rose,  and  slowly  made  his  way 
toward  his  horse,  hitched  a  little  apart  from  that  of  Will 
iams.  He  was  now  thoroughly  alarmed  on  his  own  ac 
count,  by  the  violence  of  Williams,  and  meditated  flight; 
desiring  only  to  escape  from  him,  and  to  leave  him  and  the 
wedding  party  to  whatever  catastrophe  circumstances  and 
his  drunken  frenzy  might  lead.  But  Williams,  with  that 
cunning  which  often  possesses  alike  the  lunatic  and  the 


Phoebe's  Wedding  551 

drunken  man,  instantly  divined  his  purpose;  and  when 
Spring  had  loosed  his  horse,  and  was  about  to  put  his  foot 
in  the  stirrup,  hastily  ran  behind  him,  and  Spring  once 
more  felt  himself  in  that  iron  gripe.  "You  want  to  run 
away,  do  you  ?"  he  said,  pulling  him  from  the  horse,  which 
Williams  now  took  in  hand  and  fastened  near  his  own. 
Spring  lied,  of  course.  He  was  only  "going  to  give  the 
horse  water  at  the  branch" ;  and  then,  with  a  flood  of  pro 
fessions  of  friendship,  and  complaints  of  being  misunder 
stood  and  maltreated,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  bottle, 
saying,  "I  am  obliged  to  take  something;  you  hurt  me,  I 
am  ready  to  faint.  It  is  French  brandy;  will  you  have 
some?"  Williams,  having  exhausted  his  own  supply,  eager 
ly  put  the  bottle  to  his  lips  and  drank,  and  was  soon  after 
in  a  condition  of  almost  idiotic  helplessness.  Though  still 
firm  on  his  feet,  he  now  yielded  stolidly  to  every  sugges 
tion  of  Spring ;  agreeing  to  lie  in  wait  in  the  barnyard  for 
Thornton,  and  when  he  should  come  to  make  on  him  a 
deadly  assault;  implicitly  consenting  to  everything,  as  men 
are  often  known  to  do  in  the  half-stupor  that  follows  a 
sudden  awakening  from  sleep. 

Meantime,  Elijah  had  kept  watch  on  all  their  movements. 
He  had  gone  more  than  once  into  the  house,  endeavoring 
to  communicate  with  his  master,  but  was  as  often  repulsed 
by  the  throng.  Once  only  he  came  near  Thornton,  and 
pressed  toward  him,  and  frantically  called  aloud  to  him, 
but  the  sudden  striking  up  of  the  music,  and  the  loud 
laughter  of  Thornton  and  Major  Tinsley,  at  some  drollery 
between  Mr.  Joe  Sterrett  and  Mr.  Davis,  prevented  him 
from  being  heard.  Then,  losing  sight  of  Thornton,  and  not 
being  able  again  to  discover  him,  and  fearful  that  he  was 
already  on  his  way  home,  and  would  fall  into  the  ambus 
cade  set  for  him,  he  flew  speedily  back  toward  the  barnyard, 
with  the  purpose  of  putting  himself  between  his  master 
and  his  enemies.  Spring  and  Williams  had  now  mounted 
their  horses,  and  were  riding  to  the  gate  which  opened  near 
the  branch,  in  the  path  that  led  to  the  stepping-stones  and 
into  the  Lastlands  domain.  Except  a  detour  which  the 
horsemen  were  obliged  to  make  to  reach  the  cattle-yard 
through  this  gate,  the  routes  of  both  (and  of  Thornton  and 


552  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Barbara,  as  will  be  seen)  lay  in  parallel  lines.  Except 
Elijah,  each  was  unconscious  of  the  proximity  of  the  others, 
and  he  knew  only  of  that  of  the  conspirators,  whom  he 
could  see,  at  intervals,  riding  slowly  in  the  light  of  the 
gibbous  moon.  He  now  strained  every  nerve  to  get  in 
advance  of  them  to  the  cattle-yard. 


CHAPTER  LX 

THE   DUKE   ON   GUARD 

"Under  thy  mantle  black  ther  hidden  lye 
Light-shonning  Thefte,  and  traitorous  Intent, 
Abhorred  Bloodshed." 

SIMULTANEOUSLY  with  these  movements,  Barbara  and 
Thornton  had  got  free  from  the  hospitable  solicitation  of 
Phoebe  and  Paul,  and  set  out  on  their  way  home,  taking  the 
road  that  led  to  the  bridge  across  the  branch  and  to  the 
cattle-yard.  Barbara  had  been  depressed  by  the  untoward 
interruption  of  Phoebe's  wedding,  but  now  that  all  was 
happily  ended,  and  she  clasped  the  arm  of  "dear  Uncle 
Rob/'  and  inhaled  the  fresh  air  purified  by  the  rain,  and 
snuffed  the  perfumed  breeze  gently  blowing  from  the  woods 
that  flanked  their  path,  her  spirits  rose,  and  she  prattled 
away,  greatly  to  Uncle  Rob's  delight,  extolling  Lastlands, 
and  filled  with  the  delicious  sense  of  being  "home  again/' 

"Uncle,"  she  said,  "if  I  had  been  blindfolded,  while  I 
was  away,  and  transported  to  this  road  where  we  are  now 
walking,  as  people  in  fairy  tales  are  transported,  I  would 
have  known  the  place  at  once,  by  the  sweet  odors  coming 
from  these  woods." 

"Ah !  Barbara,  you  are  now  in  a  mood  to  magnify  every 
thing  about  Lastlands,  because  it  is  home.  There  is  no 
fragrance  in  the  woods  in  autumn.  What  odor  does  it  re 
semble  ?" 

"I  can't  say  what  it  resembles.  It  is  fsui  generis/  Uncle, 
as  we  say  in  Latin;  like  that  strange,  sweet  smell  in  town 
in  summer,  when,  after  a  long  drouth,  a  sudden  dash  of 
rain  lays  the  dust  and  wets  the  roofs  of  the  houses.  Ah, 
there  comes  an  odor  that  you  surely  know — the  old  familiar 
perfume  of  the  autumn  woods." 

558 


554  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"Yes,  I  know  that,  and  it  is  very  sweet.  I  did  not  think 
of  the  pawpaws  when  I  said  the  autumn  woods  had  no  per 
fume.  They  are  on  the  ground,  in  a  hollow,  a  little  way 
off  there  in  the  woods." 

"I  know  the  place  well.  I  used  to  get  them  there  long 
years  ago — how  long  it  seems ! — four  years  ago,  when  you 
first  brought  'Lijah  home.  He  explored  the  woods  every 
where,  and  showed  us  all  his  discoveries:  the  wildgrapes, 
and  the  hickory  nuts  in  the  great  woods,  and  the  pecan  trees 
in  the  valley,  and  the  wildflowers  along  the  ridge,  and  the 
red-bud,  and  the  dogwood  there,  and  brought  us  here  to 
gather  pawpaws.  Could  we  get  some  now  for  the  chil 
dren?" 

"No,  Barbara,"  Thornton  replied,  glancing  at  the  moon, 
which  now  seemed  tumbling  into  the  horizon,  "the  moon  is 
sinking  rapidly,  and  will  hardly  light  us  home.  We  must 
make  a  little  haste;  you  can  come  for  them  with  the  chil 
dren." 

Then  they  pushed  on,  hearing  now  the  loud  barking  of 
the  dogs  at  the  herdsman's  cottage,  beyond  the  valley  of  the 
branch,  and  behind,  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  the  sounds 
of  merriment  in  old  Vaiighn's  house,  which  still  throbbed 
with  the  revelry  of  the  dancers.  Soon  they  stood  upon  the 
edge  of  the  valley,  and  saw  below  them  the  bridge  over  the 
branch,  and,  on  the  high  ground  beyond,  the  herdsman's 
cottage  and  the  cattle-barn.  Spite  of  Thornton's  desire  to 
hasten  his  footsteps,  he  could  not  forbear  to  pause  a  mo 
ment  to  admire  the  herdsman's  cottage,  built  after  a  sketch 
he  had  made  in  Westmoreland.  It  was  a  low,  steep-roofed 
building,  of  rough  stone,  with  projecting  eaves  and  dormer 
windows,  a  well-sheltered  porch,  and  a  heavy  chimney-stack 
rising  out  of  the  center.  Sleeping  there  in  the  moonlight, 
one  gable  and  the  chimney  stack  in  the  light,  and  all  else 
in  shadow,  it  was  a  picturesque  object.  But  Barbara's 
thoughts  were  not  upon  the  picturesque  cottage.  She  was 
listening  to  the  voice  of  the  branch,  now  flooded  and  in 
articulate  in  its  rage,  and  her  thoughts  went  back  to  those 
days — oh,  how  far  away  they  seemed ! — when  she  and  John 
D.  and  Phcebe  and  Paul  used  to  sit  for  hours  on  the  bridge, 
and  never  weary  of  listening  to  its  lisping  murmur,  and 


The  Duke  on  Guard  555 

watching  its  curling  waters;  days  of  happiness  gone  for 
ever — gone  to  that  sad,  weird  region  called  in  sentimental 
parlance  "Nevermore/'  She  moved  away  in  a  somber 
mood,  when  Thornton  resumed  his  walk,  and  they  went  in 
silence  down  the  declivity,  and  upon  the  bridge,  whose 
features  she  scanned  as  those  of  an  old  friend.  She  trailed 
her  hand  along  the  rail,  and  paused  as  she  touched  the  im 
print  of  her  name  made  there  by  John  D.'s  knife. 

As  they  were  about  to  ascend  to  the  gate  that  opened  into 
the  cattle-yard,  Thornton,  with  a  sudden  grasp,  arrested 
Barbara's  steps.  "Stop,  Barb. !"  he  hurriedly  whispered, 
"the  Duke  is  loose  in  the  cattle-yard." 

And  looking  there  she  saw  the  dreadful  bull.  He  stood, 
fixed  as  a  statue,  broadside  to  them,  his  huge  form  distinct 
against  the  western  sky,  his  head  held  high  in  air,  his  nos 
trils  expanded  like  cups,  his  ears  pricked  forward — all  his 
senses  seeming  strained  upon  some  object  within  view.  The 
crease  behind  his  horns  was  sharply  defined,  and  behind 
this  swelled  his  mighty  neck,  round  and  massive  as  the 
trunk  of  a  great  tree.  The  moonlight  glimmered  on  the 
broad,  white  disk  across  his  loins,  along  which  lights  and 
shadows  glanced  and  shifted  with  the  nervous  play  of  the 
muscles.  The  well-worn  metal  ring,  freed  from  its  re 
straining  staff,  glittered  in  his  nose  like  a  barbaric  jewel. 
Thornton  and  Barbara  stood  for  a  moment  fixed  in  admira 
tion  of  the  majestic  brute.  Then  Thornton  whispered,  "He 
has  heard  us  coming.  Come  away,  Barbara — we  must  pass 
behind  the  cottage.  Come!  he  may  see  us,  and  that  gate 
would  be  no  barrier,  strong  as  it  is,  if  he  should  charge  it." 

They  moved  away  slowly,  with  their  eyes  turned  toward 
the  Duke. 

"Uncle,"  whispered  Barbara,  "he  is  not  looking  toward 
us,  but  away  into  the  shadow  of  the  barn." 

"No  matter,"  answered  Thornton,  keeping  his  eyes  upon 
the  point  of  danger;  "he  has  not  yet  made  out  where  we 
are." 

And  now  the  muzzle  of  the  bull  was  slowly  drawn  toward 
his  breast,  his  neck  began  to  arch,  the  lights  and  shadows 
on  his  white  loins  danced  and  quivered — then  suddenly  his 
head  sank  to  the  ground,  his  tail  was  flung  aloft,  and,  with 


556  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

a  loud  suspiration,  he  charged  into  the  shadow  of  the  barn. 
A  scuffling  sound  was  heard,  then  a  human  cry,  instantly 
stifled,  then  a  scuffling  sound  again,  and  now  a  deep  bel 
low, — a  frightful  tremolo, — which  makes  Barbara  clutch 
at  Thornton's  arm,  and  sends  the  blood  to  both  their  hearts. 

"Merciful  Father !"  exclaimed  Thornton,  "what  can  this 
mean  ?  Come,  Barbara ;  we  must  awaken  Kirby." 

But  their  footsteps  are  stayed  by  another  sight.  Their 
eyes  are  still  fixed  upon  the  cattle-yard,  where  a  dark  object 
is  indistinctly  seen  to  rise  in  the  air,  and  fall  with  a 
muffled  sound;  again  it  rises  and  falls  as  before;  a  third 
time  it  rises  still  higher,  now  out  of  the  shadow  of  the 
barn,  and,  distinctly  against  the  sky,  they  see  the  figure  of 
a  man,  the  limbs  flying  abroad,  limp  and  helpless,  and  the 
head  hanging  down.  The  bull  rushes  forward,  as  if  to 
catch  it  on  his  horns,  but  it  falls  heavily  upon  the  wall, 
and,  dragging  across  it,  drops  into  the  herdsman's  garden. 

And  now  the  dogs  are  fairly  shrieking.  Thornton  and 
Barbara  hasten  to  the  wicket  opening  into  the  herdsman's 
yard,  where  the  dogs  meet  them,  and,  recognizing  them, 
fawn  and  whimper  for  a  moment,  and  then  fly  away  to  the 
garden  gate,  where  they  shriek  again,  and  paw  at  the 
paling,  and  try  to  tear  it  with  their  teeth.  A  light  is  now 
shining  from  the  window  of  the  cottage,  and  soon  Kirby 
comes  out,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand, 
and  seeing  Barbara  and  Thornton,  says,  "Why,  Colonel, 
what  can  be  the  matter?  The  dogs  have  been  rampin'  the 
livelong  night.  I've  been  up  twice,  but  I  couldn't  see  any 
thing  wrong." 

"Well,"  said  Thornton,  "there  is  something  wrong  now. 
The  Duke  is  loose  in  the  cattle-yard,  and  has  killed  some 
one  there,  and  tossed  him  into  your  garden." 

Thornton  had  his  hand  on  the  garden  gate,  vainly  trying 
to  open  it. 

"Bless  my  soul!"  ejaculated  Kirby,  "somebody  comin' 
through  from  the  weddin' — however  did  he  get  loose  ?  Let 
me  open  the  gate  for  you — it  is  a  curious  latch,"  and  he 
touched  the  fastening  and  the  gate  flew  open. 

"Give  me  the  lantern,"  said  Thornton,  and  he  hurried 
along  the  wall.  The  dogs  rushed  in  advance  and  soon  came 


The  Duke  on  Guard  557 

upon  a  dark  object,  before  which  they  stopped,  and  cower 
ing,  and  snuffing  at  it  timorously,  lowered  their  tails  and 
stole  away.  Thornton  advanced,  followed  by  Kirby,  and 
turning  the  light  upon  it  discovered  the  body  of  a  man — 
a  large  man  clad  in  dark  clothes  torn  and  covered  with 
dirt  and  blood. 

"Bless  my  soul !"  said  Kirby,  quickly  stooping  over  the 
face,  "it's  a  nigger — a  strange  nigger." 

"No,"  said  Thornton;  "look  here/'  and  he  drew  aside 
the  torn  and  bloody  shirt  from  the  breast,  and  revealed 
a  white  skin,  with  a  purple  stab  wide  as  if  made  with  a 
crowbar,  the  blood  welling  out  over  the  body.  Thornton 
turned  to  the  face,  and,  wiping  it  with  his  handkerchief, 
found  that  it  had  been  smutted.  He  found  also  on  the 
head  a  black,  woolen  cap,  elastic  and  fitting  closely  to  the 
scalp,  and  taking  this  off,  showed  the  head  covered  with 
short,  curling  red  hair.  After  a  moment's  scrutiny  he  rose 
quickly,  and  said,  "It  is  Williams !" 

"It  is,"  said  Kirby,  "and  no  mistake ;  the  all-fired  scoun 
drel  !  I  thought  he  had  left  the  country  for  good.  Well, 
if  I  had  'a'  known  it  was  him  out  thar,  I'd  'a'  had  his  scalp, 
if  I  never  cocked  another  musket !  I  might  'a'  known  there 
was  a  rogue  about  by  the  rampin'  of  the  dogs;  they  know 
'em  by  the  smell.  I  thought  it  was  just  the  people  passin' 
backward  and  forward  from  the  weddin'.  I  heard  the 
Duke,  too,  bellerin'  in  his  stall,  but  he  always  does  that 
when  strangers  are  around.  But  when  he  gave  that  awful 
beller,  like  beatin'  the  long  roll,  I  knew  somethin'  out  of 
the  way  was  up,  and  I  jumped  right  out  of  bed — I  tell  you 
I  did !  It  'minded  me  of  the  noise  the  drunken  Indians 
made  at  Raisin,  after  murderin'  our  men  that  were  wound 
ed  and  prisoners,  when  they  come  together  and  licked  the 
blood  off  o'  their  knives.  However  did  the  Duke  get  loose?" 

"Kirby,"  said  Thornton,  who  had  been  looking  intently 
at  the  body  of  Williams  during  this  talk,  "this  body  must 
be  left  lying  just  as  it  is.  There  must  be  an  inquest — • 
drive  away  those  dogs." 

The  dogs  had  now  come  back  into  the  garden,  and,  stand 
ing  off  a  short  distance,  and  snuffing  toward  the  body,  ut 
tered  a  half-fierce,  half -plaintive  howl. 


558  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Thornton  now  told  Kirby  that  he  would  send  over  two 
men  to  assist  him,  and  would  himself  return  early  in  the 
morning,  and  that  in  the  meantime  he  must  put  lights  on 
the  gates,  and  place  the  men  where  they  might  warn  away 
any  persons  who  might  offer  to  pass  through  the  cattle- 
yard.  Then  he  went  into  the  house,  and  he  and  Barbara 
walked  away  homeward. 

The  moon  was  now  on  the  very  edge  of  the  horizon,  and 
the  waning  light,  and  the  long  shadows  stretching  far 
away  across  the  fields,  put  a  ghostly  face  upon  the  land 
scape.  For  some  distance  they  walked  in  silence,  their 
thoughts  absorbed  by  the  horror  of  the  scene  they  had  just 
witnessed.  At  last  Barbara  said,  "To  think  of  his  having 
come  so  far,  Uncle,  and  after  so  long  a  time,  to  make  a 
new  attempt  upon  your  life !  What  terrible  vindictive- 
ness  !" 

"But  I  don't  think  he  came  for  that  purpose.  I  don't 
believe  that  any  man  would  make  such  a  journey  for  ven 
geance.  That  was  an  afterthought.  It  was  not  like  him. 
It  was  thought  when  he  waylaid  me  before  that  he  meant 
to  assassinate  me,  but  that  was  a  mistake.  He  had  no 
weapon  when  he  was  found  hurt  under  the  stile.  Seeing 
the  doctor  with  me,  he  had  concealed  himself  there.  He 
wanted,  according  to  his  notion,  to  vindicate  his  manhood, 
and  intended  to  offer  a  fair  fight.  He  said  this  at  the  time, 
and  I  believe  he  spoke  the  truth.  His  love  for  Phcebe 
brought  him  here.  He  came  to  be  present  on  the  wedding 
night.  He  had  not  given  up  all  hope,  or,  even  if  he  had, 
he  could  not  keep  away." 

"Oh,  Uncle,  do  you  think  that?  How  he  must  have 
loved  her !" 

"Yes;  he  was  a  man  of  strong  feeling,  violent  in  every 
way.  He  was  no  doubt  at  the  bottom  of  young  Hugh 
Vaughn's  interference  with  the  wedding — he  and  another 
man  whom  I  saw  there,  and  who  was  capable  of  suggesting 
murder  after  the  attempt  to  interrupt  the  wedding  ha<l 
failed." 

"Uncle,"  said  Barbara,  "I  think  there  was  some  one 
with  him !  I  saw  a  slender  figure  pass  over  the  far  stile 
of  the  cattle-yard,  just  as  the  Duke  rushed  into  the  dark 


The  Duke  on  Guard  559 

there.  I  was  so  shocked  by  what  occurred  afterward,  that 
I  did  not  think  of  it  again,  but  it  comes  back  to  me  clearly. 
I  am  sure  that  I  saw  it." 

"Likely  enough,  Barbara.  That  villain  of  whom  I  spoke 
might  have  thought  to  find  his  interest  in  my  death,  but 
he  was  too  cowardly  for  such  an  attempt.  I  shall  not  be 
surprised  to  find  that  he  was  present,  but  I  warrant  far 
in  the  rear.  We  shall  know  more  to-morrow." 

At  a  high  point  in  their  path  they  paused  and  looked 
back.  They  saw  the  glimmer  of  Kirby's  lantern,  and  heard 
in  the  cattle-yard  the  low  muttering  of  the  Duke,  as  if 
slowly  subsiding,  like  a  volcano  after  an  eruption.  As 
they  walked  on  they  heard  once  more,  faintly,  the  howl  of 
the  dogs.  In  another  moment,  while  Thornton  went  to 
summon  men  to  go  to  Kirby,  Barbara  entered  the  house, 
and,  springing  up  the  stairway  to  the  chamber  of  her  aunt, 
kissed  her  and  the  sleeping  children,  and  leaving  to  Thorn 
ton  the  relation  of  the  events  of  the  night,  went  to  her 
own  chamber. 


CHAPTER  LXI 


"His  palms  are  folded  on  his  breast; 
There  is  no  other  thing  expressed 
But  long  disquiet  merged  in  rest." 

THORNTON  rose  early  next  morning.  The  circumstances 
of  Williams's  death  in  the  cattle-yard  he  was  desirous  of 
having  accurately  investigated.  McCrae,  after  he  had 
found  it  impossible  to  get  recognition  from  Thornton,  had 
made  misrepresentations  of  the  passage  that  had  occurred 
between  himself  and  Thornton,  as  well  as  of  those  between 
Williams  and  Thornton;  and  while  the  public  verdict  had 
been  in  Thornton's  favor,  there  were  yet  some  people,  as 
there  are  now  and  always  will  be,  with  a  natural  bias 
toward  the  wrong  side,  who  interpreted  all  these  to  Thorn 
ton's  disadvantage.  In  this  case  he  was  anxious  that  there 
should  not  be  "a  loop  to  hang  a  doubt  upon."  Knowing 
little  of  the  forms  of  proceeding  necessary  in  cases  like  this, 
he  had  sent  a  messenger  with  a  note  to  the  sheriff,  and  also 
one  to  the  county  deputy,  requesting  them  to  take  such 
official  action  as  might  be  proper,  and  to  notify  the  coroner 
and  be  present  with  him  at  his  herdsman's  cottage  by 
twelve  o'clock. 

Charles  Fetter  now  came  to  him  and  reported  Elijah 
lying  very  ill  in  the  cabin,  and  "outen  his  head." 

"What  does  he  say  or  do  that  makes  you  think  he  is  out 
of  his  head?" 

"Well,  sir,  dis  mornin'  when  I  fust  seen  him  he  was 
plumb  crazy !  He  talks  well  enough,  now,  but  he  is  still 
outen  his  head.  He  say  he  got  pain  in  his  legs — both  his 
legs;  an'  you  know  he  ain't  got  but  one  leg.  An'  when  I 
tell  him  dat,  he  still  p'int  to  where  dat  udder  leg  ought  to 

560 


The  Death  of  Elijah  561 

be,  an'  say  he  got  pain  in  dat,  too.  He  want  to  see  you, 
Mars  Kobert,  mighty  bad.  He's  all  de  time  callin'  for  you." 

Then  Thornton  went  to  see  Elijah  at  the  cabin.  He 
found  him  tossing,  muttering  of  his  master,  and  Miss  Bar 
bara,  and  the  Duke.  In  the  course  of  a  long,  rambling 
talk,  often  wandering,  but  returning  always  to  the  point,  he 
told  Thornton  the  particulars  of  the  conspiracy,  which  have 
been  already  related — anticipated  for  the  purpose  of  pre 
senting  a  clear  and  connected  narrative.  The  remainder, 
kept  back  from  the  same  motive,  and  not  for  the  purpose  of 
piquing  the  reader's  curiosity,  as  is  the  way  with  writers 
of  romance,  may  be  told  now. 

When  Elijah  saw  Williams  and  Spring  about  to  mount 
their  horses  to  ride  to  the  cattle-yard,  he  quickly  lifted  him 
self  over  the  fence  into  the  field  next  the  yard,  and  sped 
across  it  into  the  cattle-yard.  Going  in  a  straight  line,  he 
had  hardly  a  fourth  of  the  distance  to  go  that  was  necessary 
to  be  traversed  by  the  horsemen.  Leaping  the  branch  with 
the  aid  of  his  crutch,  he  reached  the  barn  almost  breathless, 
but  climbed  at  once  into  the  loft,  where  from  a  window  in 
the  shadowed  side  of  the  barn  he  could  view  the  road  by 
which  Barbara  and  Thornton  must  come,  if  they  should 
walk  home,  and  also  of  the  way  by  which  Williams  and 
Spring  were  advancing.  He  saw  nothing  of  Barbara  and 
Thornton,  but  he  saw  Williams  and  Spring  riding  toward 
a  clump  of  trees  some  distance  away,  where  he  felt  assured 
they  would  dismount  and  fasten  their  horses.  Then  he 
went  down  quickly  into  the  yard,  and,  driving  out  of  it  a 
lame  ox,  confined  there  for  treatment,  he  returned  to  the 
barn,  and  going  to  the  stall  of  the  Duke,  spoke  to  him,  and 
put  his  hand  upon  him,  and  fixed  the  staff  to  the  ring  in 
his  nose,  and  then  quickly  mounted  again  to  the  window. 
He  now  saw  distinctly  in  the  moonlight  Barbara  and 
Thornton  at  the  top  of  the  acclivity  beyond  the  valley, 
where,  as  we  have  seen,  they  paused  while  Thornton  ad 
mired  the  herdsman's  cottage  by  moonlight.  Then  he 
hastened  back  to  the  Duke,  loosed  his  chain  and  led  him 
out  into  the  yard,  and  freeing  him  from  the  staff,  turned 
him  loose.  Instead  of  bellowing,  as  Elijah  supposed  he 
would  do,  he  made  no  sound,  but,  wheeling  instantly  about, 


562  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

facing  the  quarter  from  which  Williams  and  Spring  were 
coming,  and  lifting  his  head  high,  stood  gazing  toward  the 
stile.  Looking  there,  Elijah  saw  them  approaching.  Then, 
lifting  himself  upon  his  crutch,  he  crossed  the  wall  into 
Kirby's  garden,  and  passing  along  it,  got  over  the  outer 
wall  and  seated  himself  in  its  shadow  by  the  gate,  whence 
he  saw  Barbara  and  Thornton  going  slowly  away  on  the 
path  to  Kirby's  cottage.  He  had  just  started  to  intercept 
them,  when  the  catastrophe  occurred  in  the  cattle-yard. 
After  this  he  heard  Spring  gallop  away,  and  saw  the  light 
of  the  lantern  at  the  cottage,  and  heard  the  colloquy  be 
tween  Thornton  and  Kirby.  Terrified  at  having  been  in 
strumental  in  bringing  about  such  a  horror,  he  fled  home. 
He  had  not  thought  of  any  such  result,  but,  knowing  the 
dread  in  which  the  Duke  was  held  by  everybody,  supposed 
that  at  sight  of  him  in  the  yard  they  would  instantly  turn 
away,  when  he  might  easily  warn  his  master  and  Barbara 
of  their  danger,  and  awaken  Kirby,  whom  he  regarded  as 
equal  to  a  regiment  of  soldiers.  But  the  conspirators  hav 
ing  made  a  previous  reconnaissance  of  the  cattle-yard,  and 
having  then  seen  there  the  lame  ox,  almost  as  large  as  the 
Duke  and  not  unlike  him,  perhaps  mistook  the  Duke  for 
him;  or  probably  Spring  alone  recognized  the  bull,  and 
purposely  left  Williams  to  his  fate.  This  last  conjecture 
derives  strength  from  the  fact  that  Spring  carried  away 
the  horse  and  trappings  belonging  to  Williams,  and,  as  was 
said  by  the  latter's  friends,  also  a  considerable  sum  of 
money. 

When  Elijah  had  ended  his  story,  he  said,  "Master,  you 
ain't  goin'  to  let  'em  kill  de  Duke,  is  you?  'Twarn't  his 
fault."  And  Thornton  answered  decisively,  "No !  The 
Duke  was  not  to  blame,  nor  you  either.  You  did  right; 
and  you  must  not  take  any  blame  to  yourself  for  what  has 
happened." 

Soon  after,  Major  Tinsley  rode  into  Lastlands,  accom 
panied  by  the  doctor,  who,  at  Thornton's  request,  went  at 
once  to  see  Elijah,  and  coming  back  prescribed  for  him, 
telling  Thornton  that  his  case  was  a  very  serious  one,  and, 
leaving  minute  directions  for  his  treatment,  promised  to 
visit  him  again  in  the  course  of  the  day. 


The  Death  of  Elijah  563 

Then  they  rode  over  to  the  herdsman's  cottage,  where 
they  found  a  large  assemblage  of  neighbors ;  not  only  those 
whom  Thornton  had  invited,  but  many  others  attracted  by 
curiosity  to  view  the  scene  of  so  unusual  an  occurrence. 
Having  waited  long  after  the  time  appointed  for  the  com 
ing  of  the  sheriff  or  his  deputy,  or  the  coroner,  none  of 
whom  came,  at  the  suggestion  of  Major  Tinsley  a  number 
of  the  most  substantial  persons  present  organized  them 
selves  into  a  court  of  inquiry,  and  proceeded  to  investigate 
the  circumstances  of  Williams's  death.  They  took  down 
in  writing  the  statements  of  Barbara  and  Thornton  and 
Kirby.  Young  Hugh  Vaughn  was  sent  for,  but  was  re 
ported  too  ill  to  come.  Then  it  was  proposed  to  examine 
the  scene  of  the  killing.  But  for  this  it  was  necessary  to 
secure  the  Duke,  who  was  still  loose  in  the  cattle-yard.  In 
his  normal  condition  this  would  have  been  a  difficult  task, 
but  he  was  now  apathetic,  exhausted  by  the  exploit  of  the 
night,  and  by  incessant  raving  and  lowing  and  bellowing 
about  the  yard,  in  which  he  had  continued  until  near  day 
light.  His  horns  were  covered  with  mud,  and  across  a 
white  mark  on  his  forehead  was  a  stain  of  a  hue  that  could 
not  be  mistaken.  After  cautious  maneuvering  the  staff 
was  fixed  to  the  ring  in  his  nose,  and  he  was  led  into  his 
stall,  where  he  fell  to  eating  as  if  nothing  unusual  had 
occurred. 

An  examination  was  then  made  of  the  yard  and  the  ad 
jacent  ground  for  traces  of  the  night's  transactions.  In 
the  cattle-yard  was  found  an  old,  battered,  woolen  hat, 
such  as  is  worn  by  negroes,  and  a  short,  thick  dirk,  which 
exactly  fitted  a  scabbard  found  on  the  body  of  Williams. 
Along  the  pathway  leading  to  the  stile  were  found  the 
tracks  of  two  men,  differing  widely,  one  large  and  broad 
and  showing  a  deep  imprint  of  the  heel,  the  other  unusually 
small,  showing  no  trace  of  a  heel,  and  pronounced  by  Kirby 
to  be  a  moccasin  track.  The  large  tracks  corresponded  pre 
cisely  with  the  boot  of  Williams,  and  were  distinctly  traced 
to  the  spot  on  which  he  must  have  stood  when  struck  first 
by  the  bull.  The  small  tracks  extended,  within  the  yard,  but 
a  few  paces  from  the  stile.  Outside  the  yard  the  same 
tracks  were  traced  to  a  clump  of  trees,  where  there  were 


564  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

plain  marks  of  two  horses  having  been  fastened.  The 
small  track  could  be  traced  to  and  from  this  clump  of 
trees  to  the  cattle-yard,  while  the  large  track  was  found 
only  going  toward  and  within  the  yard. 

A  plain  statement  of  the  testimony  adduced,  and  of  the 
circumstances  here  related,  was  then  drawn  up  by  Major 
Tinsley,  and  signed  by  the  members  of  the  improvised 
court,  a  duplicate  of  which  was  sent  to  McCrae  by  Thorn 
ton,  with  a  note  inviting  him  to  send  for  the  body  of 
Williams,  and  to  take  such  other  steps  as  he  might  deem 
proper  in  the  premises.  The  neighbors  then  dispersed  to 
their  homes. 

Thornton  now  told  Kirby  to  take  one  of  the  Lastlands 
servants  who  was  in  attendance,  to  assist  him,  and  have 
the  body  of  Williams  washed  and  made  as  little  likely  to 
shock  his  kinsmen  as  might  be,  when  they  should  come  for 
it.  The  old  soldier  made  a  grim  face  at  having  this  task 
assigned  to  him.  "He's  pretty  bad  tore  up  about  the  breast 
and  belly,"  he  said,  "but  I  might  put  in  a  few  skewers  and 
close  up  the  holes." 

"Skewers !"  exclaimed  Thornton,  "you  talk  as  if  you 
were  going  to  dress  a  beef." 

"Well,  if  I  had  my  way,  and  the  branch  hadn't  run  down 
so  quick,  and  the  Anser  was  up,  I'd  just  put  him  a-straddle 
of  a  log,  and  let  him  sail  out  into  the  Ohio  with  that  nig 
ger's  wig  on  his  head ;  I've  got  no  patience  with  a  sneaking 
fellow  that  lays  in  ambeer  for  a  man  in  the  middle  of 
the  night.  It  was  God's  providence  that  the  Duke  was 
loose!  It  beats  me!  Well,  I'll  do  what  I  can  with  the 
cyarcass.  I  reckon  it  would  be  hardly  right  to  turn  it  over 
to  his  friends  bloody  and  dirty  as  it  is  now." 

While  Thornton  walked  once  more  over  the  scene  of  the 
night's  tragedy,  Kirby  set  about  preparing  for  his  friends 
the  body  of  Williams.  When  Thornton  returned  to  the 
cottage  he  found  the  work  done.  Spite  of  Kirby's  rough 
speeches,  he  had  done  it  well.  Entering  the  room  where 
the  body  lay  extended  upon  a  long  table,  and  covered  with 
a  white  sheet,  he  was  surprised  and  gratified  to  see  it  so 
decently  arrayed;  and  as  Kirby  and  the  servant  went  out 


The  Death  of  Elijah  565 

bearing  away  a  tub  of  bloody  water  and  towels,  he  expressed 
in  warm  terms  his  commendation  and  his  thanks. 

Left  alone  with  the  body,  he  looked  with  close  scrutiny 
at  the  face,  searching  in  vain  for  any  trace  of  the  vin- 
dictiveness  that  had  prompted  such  persistent  hostility 
against  him.  On  the  fair,  smooth,  low  forehead  he  saw  a 
triangular  scar,  its  outlines  white  and  shining  like  a  silver 
thread,  and  with  a  pang  of  remorse  recognized  the  cut 
made  by  his  seal  ring  in  that  encounter  by  the  Anser.  How 
trivial  and  mean  seemed  all  human  resentments  in  the 
presence  of  this  enemy  now  invested  with  the  silent  majesty 
of  death!  "God  forgive  me!"  he  ejaculated  under  his 
breath,  "and  give  me  patience  and  self-control." 

"A  cry  of  women." 

Going  thence  into  the  cabin  where  Elijah  lay,  Thornton 
found  him  attended  by  his  mistress,  and  Barbara,  and  the 
old  housekeeper,  with  a  throng  of  slave-women  hanging 
about  the  door.  His  mind  continued  to  wander  at  intervals. 
Then  he  looked  bewildered,  lapsing  into  the  state  in  which 
he  was  found  by  Charles  Fetter  after  a  night's  tossing  on 
the  cabin  floor.  Forgetting  all  the  assurances  given  him  of 
the  safety  of  his  master  and  Barbara,  he  would  inquire 
about  them  over  and  over.  Then  he  would  content  himself 
with  a  general  inquiry,  "How's  all?"  His  mind  had  been 
so  strongly  impressed  by  the  danger  to  which  Thornton  and 
Barbara  had  been  exposed,  that  he  could  not  forbear  to 
ask  after  them,  even  while  they  were  present.  Sometimes 
his  questions  were  answered  by  pointing  to  them,  while  at 
other  times  he  would  look  wistfully  around,  and"  fixing  his 
eyes  upon  them,  smile  seemingly  at  his  own  fatuity. 

When  the  Eector  came  in  to  see  him,  and  took  his  hand, 
he  looked  into  the  good  man's  eyes,  and  recited,  with  a  not 
unfaithful  imitation  of  his  simple,  impressive  manner, 
passages  from  the  service  of  the  Church :  "We  beseech  Thee 
to  hear  us,  good  Lord !"  "0  Lamb  of  God  dat  takes  away 
de  sins  of  de  worl',  ha-ab  mercy  upon  us !"  Then  again 
would  come  to  his  mind  words  learned  in  some  earlier 
school  than  the  Church.  Looking  around  upon  all  the  faces 
about  him,  he  asked  his  master  to  please  send  for  "Uncle 


566  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

Charles  Fetter."  This  was  promptly  done,  and  soon  after 
Charles  came  in,  with  agitated  face,  and  took  a  seat  given 
him  by  Thornton  at  the  bedside.  The  boy  fixed  his  eyes 
on  Charles's  face  with  a  look  of  ineffable  affection,  and 
stretched  out  his  thin  hand,  and  placed  it  in  Charles's  great 
black  fist:  and  when  Charles  said,  "How  is  you,  son?"  he 
answered,  "One  foot  on  de  sho'."  Then  he  looked  axound 
once  more  and  asked  for  the  children,  and,  obedient  to  a 
nod  from  the  mistress,  the  old  housekeeper  went  out  and 
brought  in  little  Dick  and  Mildred  and  Hob.  He  looked 
at  them,  faintly  smiling  as  they  came  in.  Little  Mildred 
went  up  with  a  scared  look  to  the  bedside,  but  Dick,  at  the 
sight  of  'Lijah's  wasted  face,  burst  into  tears  and  rushed 
frantically  out  of  the  room.  "Po'  Mars  Dick,"  Elijah  said ; 
"he's  sorry  to  see  me  lookin'  so  po'ly,"  and,  looking  at  his 
wasted  hands,  "I'm  'most  sorry  for  myself." 

The  doctor  now  came  in  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  wrist, 
and  when  he  released  it  looked  with  a  bodeful  glance  at 
Thornton,  and  then  went  away.  A  moment  after  the  boy 
seemed  in  a  throe  of  pain,  gasping  for  breath.  This  passed 
away,  and  he  looked  at  the  old  housekeeper  and  said,  "Good- 
by,  all." 

"Where  is  you  goin',  honey?"  asked  the  old  woman,  ris 
ing  quickly  and  bending  over  him,  and  he  answered,  "To 
heaven." 

Then  his  head  sank  upon  the  pillows.  There  was  about 
the  muscles  of  the  mouth  a  slight  twitching,  which  shifted 
to  the  cheek,  beneath  the  eyes,  whence  it  flitted  to  the  brow, 
where  there  was  a  momentary  tremulous  movement,  the 
eyes  opening  with  a  wide  stare  as  of  wonder,  and  then  all 
was  still,  and  Elijah  was  dead. 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Joe  Sterrett  and  his  wife  and  her 
maid  came  upon  the  scene.  They  came  amidst  the  loud 
cries  of  slave  women  about  the  door.  But  these  were  all 
silenced  by  a  shriek  from  Mrs.  Sterrett's  Jane,  who  stared 
in  a  wild,  bewildered  way,  then  ran  out  of  sight. 


H  CHAPTER  LXII 

LOVE-MAKING  AT   LASTLANDo 

"Yea,  here  they  heard  continually  the  singing  of  birds,  and 
saw  every  day  the  flowers  appear  on  the  earth,  and  heard  the 
voice  of  the  turtle  in  the  land." 

THERE  had  long  been  great  happiness  within  the  borders 
of  the  Lastlands  plantation,  and  now  still  more  was  prom 
ised  by  the  coming  there  of  John  D.  This  chronicler  would 
gladly,  for  the  benevolent  reader's  gratification,  depict  all 
this  happiness,  but  finds  much  of  it  beyond  his  powers.  So 
large  a  part  of  it  grew  out  of  that  delicate  passion  with 
which  he  feels  himself  incompetent  to  deal,  that  the  reader 
must  be  content  with  the  merest  sketch.  In  truth,  as  every 
body  knows,  what  passes  between  lovers  is  known  only  to 
themselves.  While  the  writer  of  romance  may  paint  from 
his  imagination  rose-colored  scenes,  and  revel  in  the  purple 
light  of  love,  to  delight  sentimental  readers,  the  veritable 
chronicler  can  give  only  such  glimpses  as  chance  to  be  wit 
nessed  by  interested  or  casual  observers. 

With  the  love-making  that  now  went  on  at  Lastlands  all 
its  inhabitants  were  in  lively  sympathy.  Even  Thornton's 
love  for  his  wife  seemed  to  be  kindled  anew.  Whether  by 
reason  of  the  increased  beauty  revealed  in  her  matronly 
estate,  or  because  from  having  been,  when  childless,  one 
of  the  fondest  of  wives,  now,  blest  with  children,  she  had 
become  one  of  the  chariest ;  or  because  Thornton  being  now 
free  from  all  distracting  cares,  and  all  his  love  concentrat 
ed  here,  where  he  had  "garnered  up  his  heart," — or  because 
of  all  these  together, — he  was  now  the  fondest  of  husbands, 
and  people  were  accustomed  to  say  that  he  was  courting 
his  wife  a  second  time.  The  season,  too,  was  propitious. 
It  was  "the  leafy  month  of  June" ;  the  roses  all  ffi  bloom ; 

567 


568  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

the  wildgrape  everywhere,  wafting  from  unseen  censers  its 
delicate,  delicious  fragrance,  alternated  with  other  sweet 
nameless  odors  that  dwell  in  the  woods.  Not  only  the 
voice  of  the  turtle,  but  the  more  delightful  voice  of  the 
wood-thrush  was  now  heard  in  the  land,  sounding  his  sweet 
prelude,  which  seemed  to  say,  with  the  Queen  of  Love, 

"Bid  me  discourse,  I  will  enchant  thine  ear"; 

a  promise  always  fulfilled. 

Thornton  and  his  wife  kept  aloof,  allowing  the  young 
couple  to  wander  at  their  will  about  the  delightful  precincts 
of  Lastlands.  They  strolled  through  the  groves,  and  along 
the  Anser,  visiting  the  old  loitering  places,  the  Ridge-lick, 
where  they  recalled  the  coming  of  the  doe  and  her  fawns, 
and  other  early  reminiscences,  and  then  to  the  herdsman's 
cottage,  where  they  were  cordially  met  by  old  Kirby.  The 
old  familiar  laugh  with  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
greet  them  now  gave  place  to  a  respectful  and  somewhat 
embarrassed  salutation.  He  did  not  once  give  that  dep 
recatory  shake  of  the  head,  as  before;  perhaps  because  he 
saw  what  he  knew  would  bring  great  happiness  to  all  Last- 
lands,  and  now  deprecated  nothing.  The  young  pair  lin 
gered  upon  the  bridge  across  the  branch,  and  watched  the 
minnows  and  the  crawfish,  as  of  old,  and  laughed  together 
as  they  looked  at  Barbara's  name  on  the  rail,  still  distinct, 
though  carved  "so  many,  many  years  ago." 

It  was  late  in  the  day,  the  sun.  on  the  horizon,  when 
Thornton,  standing  at  the  window  of  his  wife's  chamber, 
saw  Barbara  and  John  D.  go  across  the  lawn  to  the  gate 
of  the  old  garden,  when  he  quickly  signaled  his  wife  to 
join  him,  and  they  saw  the  young  couple  pass  side  by  side 
through  the  old  garden  gate.  As  they  entered  there,  John 
D/s  arm  was  passed  about  her  waist,  and  with  slow  steps 
they  went  along  between  the  rows  of  blooming  roses.  When 
they  had  gone  out  of  sight,  Thornton  said,  "Did  you  ever 
see  anything  sweeter  than  that?  Do  you  remember  an  old 
garden  in  Virginia  where  a  young  couple  used  to  walk  in 
that  way?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered;  "I  remember  something  like  it. 
They  are  very  happy.  Barbara  will  make  a  lovely  wife." 


Love-making  at  Lastlands  569 

"Yes,  I  knew  a  young  woman  once  that  did  the  same; 
but  after  a  long  time,  when  children  came  to  bless  her, 
she  put  away  her  love  for  everything  but  these  children, 
even  her  love  for  their  father." 

"You  silly  man  I" 

"It's  true !  You  won't  even  allow  him  an  equal  share  of 
love  for  them !  You  know,  you  said  that  you  did  not  think 
the  father  much  akin  to  the  children ;  that  the  mother  was 
all!  I  verily  believe  that  if  I  were  combustible,  and  no 
other  fuel  at  hand,  you  would  put  me  under  the  pot  to 
warm  their  porridge !" 

"You  silly  man ;  you  would  be  but  a  crackling  thorn." 

"I  am  in  earnest,  Miss  Betty.  You  used  to  dote  upon  me 
before  the  children  came  to  bless  us,  but  you  think  little 
of  me  now." 

She  looked  grave  at  this,  and  Thornton  put  his  arm 
about  her,  and  would  have  drawn  her  to  him,  but  she  broke 
away,  crying  out,  "See!  they  are  going  to  put  little  Rob 
upon  his  horse,"  and  then  flew  away  down  to  the  lawn, 
where  the  child  sat  in  the  saddle,  with  his  Uncle  Dick  hold 
ing  the  rein. 

Then  Thornton  followed,  and  Barbara  and  John  D.  came 
out  of  the  garden,  in  the  twilight,  the  young  moon  shining 
low  in  the  west,  when,  to  dispel  the  glamour  of  love,  came 
a  cavalcade  of  young  women  in  carriages,  and  young  men 
as  outriders,  to  take  tea  and  pass  the  evening.  Lastlands 
had  become  a  gay  place  then,  and  its  wide  colonnades, 
front  and  rear,  the  great  white  columns  festooned  with 
glycene  and  climbing  roses,  often  echoed  the  happy  laugh 
ter  of  young  people  making  sport,  and  making  love  there, 
in  the  sweet  summer  nights. 

Dick  Thornton  wandered  about  the  place  like  a  sprite,  a 
benevolent  sprite,  ever  contriving  some  new  pleasure  for 
the  young  people.  Stores  of  sweetmeats  and  bonbons  were 
loaded  out  from  the  French  confectioners  in  town,  and 
rockets  were  set  off  and  other  pyrotechnic  displays  made 
at  night,  for  their  diversion.  Meantime,  he  kept  himself 
aloof,  happy  in  being  the  means  of  happiness  to  others. 
Often  the  only  manifestation  of  his  presence  was  the  glow 


570  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

of  his  cigar  at  night,  beneath  the  "Bible  tree/'  where  he 
sat  in  quiet  contemplation  of  all  this  happiness. 

It  was  not  then  customary  to  announce  engagements, 
except  on  the  near  approach  of  the  wedding  day.  Even 
to  Phoebe  and  Paul,  who  had  felt  so  much  solicitude  for 
this  consummation,  no  notice  was  given.  Nay,  between 
Barbara  and  her  aunt  hardly  more  than  one  word  had 
been  spoken.  After  the  scene  which  the  aunt  and  Thornton 
had  witnessed  from  their  window,  when  the  two  women  met 
alone  the  face  of  the  good  aunt  told  that  she  knew  all; 
and  when  she  said  "Well,  Barb.  ?"  and  stretched  her  arms 
toward  her,  Barbara's  proud  head  fell,  and  the  two  women 
came  together  in  close  embrace,  and  cried,  but  spoke  no 
word.  But  that  was  the  last  of  their  crying  over  their 
happiness. 

We  must  not  linger  over  this  old,  old  story,  the  same 
from  the  beginning  of  the  world,  yet  ever  new,  as  Cupid 
is  ever  a  child.  To  John  D.,  all  Lastlands  now  wore  an  air 
of  enchantment.  The  bluegrass  and  the  flowers  shone  with 
uncommon  hues.  All  nature  seemed  clad  in  new  vestments, 
touched  by  some  magical  hand  and  invested  with  a  new 
glory.  The  cooing  of  the  doves,  and  the  serenade  of  the 
mocking-birds,  and  the  carol  of  the  woodthrush  entranced 
him  as  never  before;  and  the  incense  spilled  down  from 
the  bloom  of  the  wildgrape  intoxicated  his  senses.  How 
changed  seemed  Lastlands  from  what  it  was  when  he  came 
home  and  found  Barbara  away !  or  from  that  black  day 
when  she  sent  him  off,  declaring  that  she  would  never  marry 
anybody !  Amidst  the  gaiety  that  followed  at  night,  John 
D.'s  blazing  countenance  was  enough  to  advertise  to  the 
young  people  there  the  happy  issue  out  of  all  his  troubles, 
and  thence  the  news  was  spread  as  by  the  four  winds. 

The  wedding  came  off  soon  after.  A  thousand  Chinese 
lanterns  illuminated  Lastlands.  One  ox  and  many  whole 
sheep  were  barbecued,  old  Kirby  looking  after  the  "cyar- 
casses."  Fireworks  were  set  off  in  many  forms,  along  the 
shores  of  the  Anser  and  from  rafts  anchored  in  the  stream : 

"And  wheels  the  circling  dance,  and  breaks 
The  rocket  molten  into  flakes 
Of  crimson  or  of  emerald  rain." 


CHAPTER  LXIII 

THE   SEERS 

"I  taught  the  prophets  from  the  beginning,"  saith  the  Lord, 
"and  cease  not  even  to  this  day  to  speak  to  all." 

IF  THIS  were  a  romance,  it  would  now  properly  end  with 
the  marriage  of  Barbara  and  John  D.  And  lest  with  this 
event  whatever  interest  may  have  been  awakened  in  the 
reader  has  subsided,  the  writer  is  well  inclined  to  end  it 
here.  Its  bulk  also  warns  him  that  with  this  minor  his 
tory  (which  it  really  is)  he  may  trespass  too  far  upon  the 
reader's  patience.  Yet,  finding  among  the  papers  of  Mr. 
Ould  some  letters  written  a  few  years  later  by  John  D., 
when  he  and  Barbara  paid  a  visit  to  the  East,  which  he 
thinks  may  interest  the  reader,  he  gives  some  parts  of  them 
here.  The  following  is  from  a  letter  from  Boston : 

"I  have  had  a  hearty  welcome  here  from  my  old  college 
friends.  Many  even  of  those  whom  I  considered  as  only 
acquaintances  have  been  equally  cordial.  It  gratifies  these 
good  people  to  find  that  Boston  attracts  the  old  graduates 
back  again  from  afar;  flattering  the  just  pride  they  all  feel 
in  the  'Hub/  For  my  part,  I  find  that  I  love  the  old  place 
with  its  sober,  unfashionable  ways  far  better  than  other 
cities  with  more  show  and  glare.  And  a  'Boston  boy/  to 
use  a  lady's  phrase,  is  very  'nice.'  'Puritanic/  do  you  say  ? 
Well,  not  enough  to  hurt.  They  are  not  so  demonstrative 
as  ours,  but  very  genuine  and  constant.  When  they  (and 
this  is  true  also  of  the  girls)  shake  your  hand  with  a  regu 
lar  pump-handle  movement  of  the  arm  and  say,  in  a  meas 
ured  way,  with  each  downward  stroke,  'How — do — you — 
do?'  YOU  may  be  sure  they  are  pleased  to  gee  you. 

571 


572  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  tell  you  something  of  your 
favorite,  Mr.  Webster.  'Vidi  tantum/  I  may  say,  though 
I  heard  him  speak  some  words,  and  saw  him  smile.  I  have 
seen  him  twice — the  first  time  while  I  was  standing  on 
the  steps  of  the  Tremont  House,  looking  over  at  the  theater, 
and  recalling  the  old  times,  and  saw  'Old  Crafts,'  of  the 
box-office,  and  Ostinelli,  the  leader  of  the  orchestra,  go  into 
the  house.  Soon  after  Mr.  Webster  came  along  on  the  side 
walk  near  me.  He  was  dressed  in  a  well-worn  suit  of  blue 
cloth  with  tarnished  gilt  buttons,  and  a  broad  slouch  hat, 
and  was  hurrying  along  the  pavement,  when  he  met  an 
acquaintance  who  appeared  to  be  very  glad  to  see  him.  But 
Mr.  W'ebster  seemed  abstracted,  and  after  an  exchange  of 
a  few  words  left  him  and  hastened  away;  and  then,  stop 
ping  suddenly,  when  fifty  yards  off,  and  turning  about,  as 
if  he  had  forgotten  to  answer  a  question  asked  him,  roared 
back  to  his  friend  in  a  voice  that  might  serve  to  hail 
ships  at  sea,  'My  Avife  is  at  Barnstable/  and  then  again 
pushed  on. 

"A  few  days  after  this  my  friend  Philips  called  on  me 
at  the  hotel,  and  when  he  took  leave  I  accompanied  him  to 
the  hall,  and  while  we  stood  talking  near  the  office  Mr. 
Webster  came  in.  He  came  to  call  on  some  stranger  there, 
and  while  he  waited  for  the  report  of  the  servant  sent  to 
know  if  the  gentleman  was  in  his  room,  w6  had  a  fair  op 
portunity  to  observe  him.  He  was  now  dressed  in  his  fa 
vorite  suit  of  blue  cloth,  with  gilt  buttons,  a  buff  waist 
coat,  and  a  shining  hat,  all  new.  He  was  clean-shaven,  his 
great  mass  of  black  hair  neatly  coiffured,  his  boots  polished 
with  Day  &  Martin,  presenting  a  splendid  figure.  Soon 
young  Charley  Stetson  announced  that  the  gentleman  was 
not  in  his  room,  and  Mr.  Webster  called  for  a  card,  upon 
which  he  wrote  some  words,  and  left  it  to  be  delivered  im 
mediately  when  the  gentleman  should  return.  'Then  he 
started  away,  but  after  a  few  steps  halted,  and  looking  back 
at  Stetson  in  a  familiar  way,  said,  'Charley,  I  want  to  take 
him  down  to  Marshfield.  I  shall  be  at  Mr.  Choate's  office 
until  three  o'clock.  Send  for  me  there,  when  he  comes. 
Don't  forget !'  Charley  shook  his  head  in  a  way  to  suggest 
the  absolute  absurdity  of  supposing  that  he  would  forget, 


The  Seers  573 

and  the  great  man  smiled  (and  such  a  smile!).  Philips 
and  I  smiled  sympathetically. 

"But  the  smile  on  the  face  of  Philips  soon  gave  place  to 
a  look  of  great  seriousness,  and  after  Mr  Webster  had  gone 
out,  turning  to  me,  he  said,  'What  do  you  think  of  him  ?' 

"-'Think  of  him !'  I  answered. 

"  'Yes ;  how  do  you  think  he  is  looking  ?' 

"  'Magnificently!' 

"  'Don't  you  think  that  he  is  beginning  to  dwindle  ?' 

"'To  dwindle?' 

"  'Yes ;  don't  you  think  his  legs  are  getting  smaller  and 
his  belly  bigger?' 

"  'Legs  getting  smaller  and  belly  bigger !  Why,  Philips, 
what  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?' 

"'Well,  I  mean  that  he  is  wasting  his  time  down  at 
Barnstable,  fishing,  and  shooting,  and  feasting,  and  playing 
at  farming,  while  he  ought  to  be  busy  at  some  great  work.' 

"  'Is  he  to  have  no  recreation  ?'  I  asked.  'What  would 
you  have  him  do?' 

"  'Well,'  he  replied,  lie  ought  to  be  writing  a  great  con 
stitutional — a  history  of  the — well,  some  great  work,'  he 
repeated,  at  a  loss  to  set  a  task  for  the  great  man.  'If  he 
should  die  now  he  would  leave  behind  him  nothing  but  a 
volume  of  speeches.' 

"I  was  at  once  reminded,  by  this  talk,  of  the  suggestion 
of  the  little  man  from  Rhode  Island  to  make  Mr.  Sterrett's 
great  racer,  Ormus,  a  horse  of  general  utility,  and  put  him 
in  harness.  I  am  afraid  that  a  public  opinion  adverse  to 
Mr.  Webster  is  rapidly  forming  here.  Organizations  for 
the  promotion  of  special  reforms  are  very  numerous — anti- 
slavery,  temperance,  vegetarian,  missionary,  peace  societies 
— and  pugnacity  is  a  characteristic  of  them  all,  even  of  the 
peace  society :  they  are  all  looking  for  something  to  smash. 
It  would  not  be  difficult  to  unite  them  against  a  broad, 
catholic  man  like  Mr.  Webster — above  all  isms  but  patriot 
ism — and  turn  their  combined  batteries  upon  him.  Such 
a  movement  is  said  to  be  now  afoot ;  and  opinions  are  rap 
idly  spread  here  by  a  peculiar  social  contagion. 

"As  for  my  friend  Philips,  he  is  an  intellectual  sybarite ; 
ostensibly  a  lawyer,  but  not  desiring  clients ;  ambitious  of 


574  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

distinction,  able,  studious,  combative,  in  want  of  a  field  of 
action.  He  has  probably  heard  complaints  against  the  great 
Daniel,  and  now  idly  gives  them  currency;  affording  an 
other  instance  of  that  habit,  characteristic  of  these  good 
people  and  derived  from  their  English  fathers,  of  depreciat 
ing,  singly  and  in  detail,  everything  that  is  best  among 
them,  and  yet  maintaining  their  general  superiority  to  all 
the  world. 

"Of  course,  we  have  been  to  the  theater,  the  Tremont.  I 
feel  inclined  to  go  also,  fen  garQon'  to  Pelby's,  but  will  not. 
It  is  delightful  and  easy  to  revive  the  old  days  I  passed 
here,  where  things  change  very  slowly.  I  see  the  same  fine 
old  Italian  leader  in  the  orchestra,  with  shining  bald  head, 
and  recall  the  time  when  we  Harvard  puppies,  in  full  even 
ing  costume,  our  heads  fresh  from  the  curling  tongs  of 
Dudley  and  Bogue,  the  hairdressers  in  School  street,  used 
to  fill  one  or  more  of  the  best  boxes,  on  great  theatrical  oc 
casions,  and  applaud  with  kidded  hands  some  fine  piece 
from  the  orchestra,  and  receive  a  grateful  bow  from  the 
leader.  At  the  hour  for  the  opening  of  the  box-office  I  went 
for  our  tickets,  and  got  a  smile  of  recognition  from  old 
Crafts,  and  gave  him  my  hand  and  a  hearty  shake,  remem 
bering  how  faithfully  he  used  to  fill  our  orders  for  the  best 
box  in  the  house;  even  on  great  occasions,  when  magnates 
of  'society'  were  our  competitors  and  would  have  had  our 
priority  set  aside  in  their  behalf,  standing  up  manfully  for 
us  against  'influence/  'Influence  be  blowed  !'  They  didn't 
know  what  they  were  asking !  Business  was  business  with 
old  Crafts  !  He  knew  that  the  patronage  of  'influence'  was 
only  occasional  and  spasmodic — like  a  wet-weather  spring 
— while  from  the  mass  of  Cambridge  boys  flowed  a  peren 
nial  stream,  to  be  relied  on  at  all  times  and  all  seasons, 
even  in  a  'September  gale'  affording  a  quantum  of  patrons 
of  the  drama. 

"I  saw  the  same  old  actors.  Andrews  is  still  the  'Merry 
Andrew'  of  the  company,  with  his  comic  song  between  the 
acts,  full  of  local  hits  or  touching  some  craze  of  the  day. 
Once  it  was  the  threatened  war  with  France;  now  it  is  the 
temperance  movement,  the  'Bedham  Muster'  and  the 
'Striped  Pig,'  all  to  the  tune  of  the  'Merchant  of  Rotter- 


The  Seers  575 

dam.'  In  the  parquette  were  the  same  old  bachelors  with 
their  spectacles  and  their  malacca  canes  and  their  silk 
handkerchiefs ;  and  in  the  boxes  the  dandies  that  had  been 
to  'Yurrup,'  with  lorgnettes  and  in  foreign  toggery.  There 
were  also  some  ladies  of  fashion  there,  with  whom  I  had 
been  so  often  associated  in  the  old  time,  as  a  part  of  the 
audience,  that  they  now  seemed  like  familiar  acquaint 
ances  ;  and  though  unknown  to  them  I  actually  took  off  my 
hat  and  saluted  Miss  Gore  and  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Tudor, 
and  had  my  salute  returned  with  smiles,  before  I  had  time 
to  think  how  unwarrantable  a  liberty  I  was  taking !  show 
ing  the  high  breeding  that  never  dreams  of  intentional  im 
pertinence.  And  then  they  had  glanced  at  Barbara,  by 
my  side,  whose  face  is  a  credential  everywhere. 

"I  send  by  mail  some  of  the  lucubrations  of  the  new 
philosophers  who  have  set  the  literary  world  agog  here. 
Their  Boanerges  is  Mr.  Emerson.  I  know  little  of  him  ex 
cept  what  I  have  learned  from  a  South  Carolina  friend, 
who,  having  been  rusticated,  selected  him  for  his  tutor,  and 
undertook,  with  his  help,  to  make  up  in  three  months  the 
leeway  of  twelve.  He  has  a  very  exalted  opinion  of  both 
the  character  and  talents  of  Mr.  Emerson  and  was  led  cap 
tive  by  him.  But  these  Carolinians  are  themselves  so  ad 
dicted  to  metaphysics  that  I  take  his  estimate  with  much 
allowance.  Against  Mr.  E.  is  quoted  here  a  truism,  in  his 
Phi  Beta  Kappa  address,  uttered  in  the  peculiar  verbiage 
of  the  sect,  'A  popgun  is  a  popgun,  though  all  the  sages 
of  the  world  affirm  it  to  be  the  crack  of  doom.'  Against 
the  sect  at  large  is  widely  quoted  a  saying  of  the  great 
Boston  lawyer,  Jeremiah  Mason,  'I  cannot  understand 
them;  but  my  girls  find  no  difficulty  in  them.'  For  my 
part,  I  find  nothing  new  in  these  philosophers  except  a  new 
nomenclature.  All  the  rest — even  the  seers,  their  chief 
hobbies — are  as  old  as  authentic  history.  As  for  the  'ear 
nest  men,'  they  are  simply  the  'long-eared  rout,'  well  known 
of  old." 

The  lucubrations  of  the  philosophers  of  whom  John  D. 
speaks  so  flippantly  are  not  to  be  found  among  the  papers 
of  Mr.  Ould;  but  most  readers  will  remember  something 


576  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

of  the  new  philosophy  which  in  that  day  stirred  the  literary 
atmosphere  of  New  England,  and  at  a  later  day  had  its 
organ,  The  Dial.  As  for  Mr.  Emerson,  the  lettered  world 
now  knows  the  "Philosopher  of  Concord,"  and  they  that 
had  personal  knowledge  of  him  know  him  literally  by  heart. 
This  chronicler  begs  leave  to  observe  that  he  does  not 
•despise  their  "earnest  men,"  nor  does  he  altogether  approve 
them,  being,  somehow,  able  to  see  them  only  in  a  kind  of 
melodramatic  light,  and  knew  them  not  in  their  quiddity  as 
Lamb's  friend  knew  a  leg  of  mutton.  But  he  thinks  nobly 
of  the  seers.  For  are  not  these  the  VTates,  the  prophets,  the 
poets  of  the  olden  time,  whose  fine  intelligence  could  pene 
trate  even  the  future,  whose  inspired  dreams  presaged  the 
wonders  of  these  latter  days?  To  what  has  been  already 
quoted,  in  the  first  chapter  of  this  chronicle,  from  a  leading 
philosopher  of  our  day,  may  now  be  added,  from  the  same 
source,  the  following :  "Ovid  foreshadowed  the  discoveries 
of  the  geologist :  the  Atlantis  was  an  imagination,  but  Co 
lumbus  found  a  western  world:  and  though  the  quaint 
forms  of  centaurs  and  satyrs  have  an  existence  only  in  the 
realms  of  art,  yet  creatures  approaching  man  more  nearly 
than  they  in  essential  structure,  and  yet  as  thoroughly 
brutal  as  the  goats,  or  the  horse's  half  of  the  mythical  com 
pound,  are  now  not  only  known,  but  notorious."  It  may 
be  added  that  in  advance  of  Harvey — in  that  speech  of 
Brutus  to  Portia, 

"You  are  my  true  and  honorable  wife, 
As  dear  to  me  as  are  the  ruddy  drops 
That  visit  my  sad  heart" — 

a  seer  had  announced  the  fact  of  the  circulation  of  the 
blood:  and,  in  Ariel's  promise  to  "put  a  girdle  about  the 
earth  in  forty  minutes,"  had  presaged  the  electric  tele 
graph. 

And  there  be  seers  now !  But,  as — it  is  said — no  age  ever 
recognized  itself  even  as  a  romantic  age,  so  this  age  may 
not  recognize  itself  as  an  age  of  seers,  though  they  be  with 
us  all  the  same.  Nay,  some  maintain  that,  in  accordance 
with  the  accelerated  pace  of  all  things  in  this  latter  day,  a 
prediction  of  one  of  these  seers  has  come  to  pass  in  his  own 


The  Seers  577 

time :  that  in  which,  under  the  guise  of  "the  hot  season/' 
was  presaged  our  great  Civil  War,  whose  fervent  heat 
should  melt  all  the  iron  barriers  and  partitions  of  social 
life.  And  this  chronicler  has  learned,  on  good  authority, 
that  in  Boston  now 

"Society  has  lost  its  ancient  guards, 
And  Temple  Place  and  Brattle  street  are  interchanging  cards." 

But  whatever  may  be  thought  as  to  the  prophetic  char 
acter  of  these  seers,  it  is  certain  that,  "having  eyes  to  see 
and  not  merely  to  glare  withal/'  they  are  able  to  discern 
things  invisible  to  the  common  eye,  and  to  reveal  to  MS 
phases  of  human  nature  lying  occult,  exanimate,  unrecog 
nized,  which  at  their  touch  spring  into  light  and  life  and 
recognition.  Who  but  a  seer  could  have  revealed  that, 
subtle  phase  of  New  England  character,  so  full  of  gentle 
ness  and  self-depreciation — tender  even  in  exacting  light 
perfunctory  service  from  his  hired  man.  and  acknowledg 
ing  this  with  a  burst  of  gratitude  ? 

"I  called  my  servant  and  he  came. 

How  kind  it  was  of  him 
To  mind  a  slender  man  like  me — 
He  of  the  mighty  limb!" 

Could  any  but  a  seer  have  presented  that  other  phase  of  the 
same  character,  the  antipode  of  this,  "The  Modern  Thor," 
his  hammer  in  his  hand,  and  hfs  spoor — tobacco  stain  and 
the  tracks  of  a  number-ten  boot — upon  the  snow  of 
Alaska  ? 

What  man  short  of  a  seer  could  have  pictured  in  prose 
paragraphs,  as  best  befitted  the  subject,  that  almost  un 
speakable  Major  Gutripper,  whom  we  of  the  South  in  the 
same  breath  recognize  and  deplore  ? 

Nay,  who  but  a  seer,  by  a  touch  on  what  lurks  everywhere 
— in  church,  in  state,  in  mart,  and,  to  the  vulgar  eye,  a 
commonplace  or  airy  nothing — could  reveal,  and  give  a 
local  habitation  and  a  name  to  the  worst  fiend  that  roams 
the  earth  and  snares  men's  souls — "The  Money  Devil"? 
Depend  upon  it,  reader,  there  are  seers  among  us !  Let  us 
congratulate  ourselves  upon  this,  and  rejoice  that  they  are 


578  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

not  now  stoned  or  starved,  as  of  old,  but,  even  in  their  own 
land,  get  some  honor  and  reward. 

But  there  be  seers  and  seers.  From  of  old,  God  has  pro 
vided  for  man  inspired  spiritual  teachers,  prophets,  psalm 
ists,  poets.  Nowhere  do  we  recognize  the  voice  of  Divine 
inspiration,  as  in  these.  "They  teach  the  heart  within  the 
heart,  and  the  secret  depths  of  the  spirit."  They  give  as 
surance  of  "a  refuge  and  a  strength,  a  very  help  in  trouble, 
though  the  earth  do  change,  though  the  mountains  be  car 
ried  into  the  midst  of  the  sea."  Why  shall  we  believe  God's 
methods  to  be  now  changed  or  abandoned?  Nay,  in  this 
material  age,  when  men  have  come  to  think  God's  universe 
a  machine,  to  run  forever,  with  no  superintending  God,  but 
only  such  a  god  as  might  as  well  have  died  when  creation 
was  completed,  is  there  not  more  need  than  ever  of  divinely 
inspired  teachers  ?  And  they  are  not  now  lacking,  nor  ever 
will  be : 

"I  fear  not  Thy  withdrawal ;  more  I  fear 
Seeing,  to  know  Thee  not,  hoodwinked  with  dreams 
Of  signs  and  wonders,  while,  unnoticed,  Thou, 
Walking  Thy  garden,  still  commun'st  with  men: 
Missed  in  the  commonplace  of  miracle." 


CHAPTER  LXIV 

BELL,  BOOK  AND  CANDLE 

"Bell,  book  and  candle  shall  not  keep  me  back 
When  gold  and  silver  beck  me  to  come  on." 

THIS  chronicle  is  nearly  at  an  end.  As  the  pioneers  that 
lingered  in  the  settlement  after  the  fierce  elements  of  the 
wilderness  had  been  subdued,  so  this  chronicler  lingers  at 
his  task,  though  bewildered  amidst  the  mighty  changes  of 
these  latter  days,  and  dazed  by  the  frightful  velocity  with 
which  everything  moves.  Since  we  have  realized  the  dream 
of  the  poet,  and  can  put  a  girdle  about  the  earth  in  forty 
minutes,  all  things  seem  to  be  adjusting  themselves  to  this 
terrible  momentum.  To  go  abroad  now  we  no  longer 
journey,  but  are  projected  across  the  land  like  shot  from  a 
cannon;  a  device  full  of  peril  to  ourselves,  and  to  all  that 
may  chance  to  lie  in  our  line  of  fire.  We  used  to  say  of 
any  unusual  event,  "It  will  be  a  nine  days'  wonder."  It 
is  a  rare  wonder  now  that  lasts  nine  hoars.  Riches  used 
to  come  by  inheritance  or  by  years  of  patient  toil  and  self- 
denial.  Now  men  grow  rich — rich  in  a  measure  that  stag 
gers  belief — in  a  night!  The  beggar  of  to-day  to-morrow 
may  be  playing  at  loggats  with  millions.  As  science  has 
now  revealed  the  fact  that  motion  and  heat  are  identical, 
perhaps  this  accelerated  pace  may  be  only  the  logical  ap 
proach  to  the  end  of  all  sublunary  things,  simply  marking 
the  speed  with  which  we  are  nearing  the  final  conflagration ! 

New  ideas  of  life,  of  its  value  and  its  purport,  are  now 
everywhere  bruited.  It  is  even  gravely  disputed  whether 
life  be  worth  living !  And,  as  it  is  the  way  of  men  to  en 
deavor  to  express  by  metaphor  whatever  is  to  them  a  mys 
tery,  new  figures  of  speech  have  come  into  vogue  to  express 
this  mysterious  entity.  It  is  no  longer  a  stream  flowing 

579 


580  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

with  greater  or  less  smoothness  or  turbulence  into  the  ocean 
of  eternity,  nor  itself  an  ocean  "glassing  softest  skies"  or 
tossed  by  tempests,  but  is  now  a  battle — "The  Battle  of 
Life."  And,  verily,  in  its  great  centers,  it  is  a  battle,  a 
battle  of  Ishmaelites,  where  every  man's  hand  is  against 
every  other  man,  where  no  quarter  is  shown,  and  where 
they  that  stumble  and  fall  are  trampled  under  foot  by  the 
throng.  Above  the  din  is  heard,  intermittently,  the  voice 
of  the  philosopher  calling  from  his  mossy  turret,  "Whence 
do  we  come?  and  whither  do  we  go?" — no  man  heeding 
him. 

Long  ago  the  writer  of  this  chronicle  limped  away  from 
that  battlefield;  content  thereafter,  "like  a  hurt  wildfowl, 
to  creep  in  sedges" — to  pass  in  a  small  town,  in  quiet,  the 
remainder  of  his  days : 

"Satisfied  to  contemplate  in  peace, 
From  a  small  sheltering  state,  as  from  the  shore, 
The  wild  and  stormy  current  of  the  world." 

But,  alack!  who  can  dwell  upon  this  planet  and  not  par 
take  of  the  momentum  with  which  it  spins  ?  Just  in  the 
midst  of  the  preceding  paragraph,  while  speaking  of  men 
playing  at  loggats  with  millions,  this  chronicler  was  him 
self  seized  by  a  sudden  spasm  of  cupidity — possessed  as  of 
a  devil — and,  abandoning  his  pleasing  task,  the  solace  of 
his  old  age,  he  posted  off  to  the  great  center  of  capital,  the 
city  of  New  York,  there  to  make  sale  or  otherwise  profit 
ably  dispose  of  a  large  body  of  coal  lands  possessed  by  him 
in  a  remote  mountain  region.  He  has  returned  from  that 
expedition,  and  now  resumes  his  task.  He  did  not  dispose 
of  his  lands,  but  he  gained  by  his  visit  some  knowledge  of 
the  means  by  which  the  vast  fortunes  of  the  present  day  are 
acquired;  knowledge  so  important  in  this  hour,  when  the 
acquisition  of  riches  engrosses  the  minds  of  all  men,  that 
he  resolved  at  once,  while  the  matter  was  fresh  in  his  mind, 
to  impart  it  to  his  readers.  He  has  been  confirmed  in  this 
resolution  by  looking  back  over  the  pages  of  this  chronicle, 
and  observing,  with  a  keen  sense  of  shortcoming,  how  much 
the  matters  with  which  it  deals  are  lacking  in  serious  im 
port  and  practical  significance.  It  did  not  ease  his  mind 


Bell,  Book  and  Candle  581 

to  consider  that  the  field  had  been  reaped,  and  all  the 
graver  matter  appropriated  by  the  historian  and  the  annal 
ist,  leaving  to  be  gleaned  by  the  chronicler  only  such  trivial 
things  as  are  here  recorded :  he  was  still  haunted  by  a  de 
sire  to  set  down  something  that  should  be  of  real  practical 
use  to  the  reader  and  meet  the  requirements  of  the  day. 
He  is  not  insensible  of  the  solecism  committed  by  thus 
going  off  upon  a  theme  of  the  hour,  after  having  dwelt  so 
long  on  the  past ;  but  he  cannot  resist  the  impulse  to  point 
out  to  all  that  may  have  stood  by  him  thus  far  the  road 
to  wealth.  He  cares  not  for  critical  canons.  He  knows 
his  audience.  "Business  is  business  I"  Let  the  reader  who 
aspires  to  riches  peruse  this  and  the  following  chapter,  and 
be  happy !  He  will  not  find  precise  directions  for  the  ac 
quisition  of  riches  (no  man  can  give  these),  but  he  will 
find  succinctly  stated  a  general  principle  upon  which  they 
have  in  all  times  been  acquired,  and  afterward  indicated,  a 
particular  source  from  which  they  have  been  recently  de 
rived. 

When  this  chronicler  went  to  New  York,  bearing  with 
him  credentials  from  gentlemen  well  known  in  the  world 
of  finance,  he  was  at  once  introduced  to  a  coterie  of  great 
capitalists,  men  whose  talk  and  whole  concern  was  of 
millions.  Their  ideas  and  their  schemes  bewildered  him. 
Even  their  vocabulary  was  for  the  most  part  unintelligible. 
The  word  of  special  force  among  these  men  was  "organiza 
tion."  What  he  learned  from  them  is  concisely  expressed 
in  the  following  dictum  of  one  of  these  millionaires: 
"There  are  plenty  of  things  lying  around  loose  out  of  which 
fortunes  may  be  made  by  organizing  them.  The  oyster 
trade  is  already  organized,  but  the  clam  trade  is  not  organ 
ized.  There  is  a  fortune  for  any  man  who  will  organize 
the  clam  trade." 

As  in  a  single  acorn  are  said  to  lie  a  thousand  oak  forests, 
so  within  this  dictum  lie  enfolded,  as  the  kernel  in  the  nut 
shell,  a  thousand  fortunes :  a  secret  hardly  second  to  that 
of  the  philosopher's  stone.  Let  the  reader,  if  he  be  an  in 
tending  millionaire,  lay  it  to  heart;  or,  to  his  better  under 
standing,  "paste  it  in  his  hat." 

As  this  chronicler  finds  himself  to  be  nothing  if  not  nar- 


582  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

rative,  and  that  the  reader  may  get  this  information,  as 
nearly  as  may  be,  from  first  hands,  the  second  item,  as  to 
the  source  from  which  wealth  has  been  of  late  suddenly 
acquired,  will  be  given  in  further  details  of  his  visit  to  New 
York,  in  the  next  chapter.  As  it  is  a  personal  narrative, 
leave  will  be  taken  to  relate  it  in  the  first  person. 


CHAPTEE  LXV 

THE  B.  R.  R.  B. 

"  'Bless  railroads  everywhere,' 

I  said,  'and  the  world's  advance! 
Bless  every  railroad  share 

In  Italy,  Ireland,  France! 
For  never  a  beggar  may  now  despair, 
And  every  rogue  has  a  chance.'  " 

IT  is  necessary  to  premise  that  three  years  before  my 
visit  to  New  York,  recorded  in  the  last  chapter,  there  lived 
in  the  small  town  in  which  I  have  my  home  two  tailors, 
father  and  son,  "makers  and  menders  and  renovators  of 
garments."  After  having  worked  together  many  years,  the 
father,  his  son  coming  of  age,  and  his  own  health  failing, 
laid  aside  his  needle  and  his  goose,  and,  "throwing  up  the 
sponge,"  subsided  into  selling  a  lotion  for  the  removal  of 
grease  spots.  The  son  continued  the  old  business,  but  find 
ing,  under  the  keen  competition  of  dealers  in  ready-made 
clothing,  his  custom  to  fall  away,  until  hardly  anything 
remained  except  the  cleaning  and  mending  of  garments, 
suddenly,  after  having  mended  all  my  old  garments  and 
those  of  half  the  well-to-do  people  of  the  town-  (a  big  job 
got  by  persistent  solicitation),  without  a  word  of  good-by 
to  anybody  he  disappeared  from  the  place.  His  name  was 
William  Reece. 

It  is  proper  to  state  also  that,  a  short  time  before  this,  a 
young  blacksmith  of  the  town,  Frank  Blaze,  went  away; 
not  mysteriously,  as  Eeece  did,  but  openly,  with  the  avowed 
purpose  of  seeking  work  in  the  mining  regions  of  the  West. 

One  day,  in  New  York,  while  weary  with  long  waiting  on 
the  delusive  schemes  of  the  millionaires,  tired  of  their  jar 
gon,  and  lonesome  in  a  degree  known  only  to  strangers  in 
a  great  crowded  city,  whom  should  I  meet  in  Broadway  but 

583 


584  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

the  young  blacksmith,  Blaze !  He  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of 
fashionable  clothes,  his  great  muscles  showing  through  the 
light  material  and  his  big,  brown  hands  as  conspicuous  as 
boxing  gloves.  He  informed  me  that  he  was  "stopping  at 
the  Fifth  Avenue,"  and  apologized  for  this  extravagance  by 
saying  that,  being  in  the  city  for  only  a  few  days,  he 
thought  he  might,  for  that  time,  indulge  himself  in  the 
Ibest  quarters.  He  apologized  also  for  his  fine  clothes,  con 
fessing  that  he  was  to  be  married  on  his  return  home,  and 
that  these  would  serve  for  his  wedding  outfit.  Both  these 
offenses  were  readily  condoned  by  me:  and  I  could  as  readily 
have  forgiven  much  graver  offenses,  in  my  delight  at  meet 
ing  with  a  fellow-townsman.  And  how  his  eyes  beamed 
upon  me !  And  how  he  crushed  my  old,  thin  fingers  in  his 
Iron  grasp !  At  home  I  had  known  him  but  slightly.  In 
my  daily  walks  I  had  been  accustomed  to  pass  by  his  forge, 
and  to  receive  and  return  his  salute,  as  he  stood  in  leather 
apron  slowly  pressing  down  his  bellows,  or  pounding  the 
red  iron  on  his  anvil ;  and  I  had  seen  him  at  church,  clean 
shaven  and  well-dressed,  and  had  augured  well  of  his  fu 
ture.  I  knew  him  as  in  a  village  we  know  everybody,  their 
horses,  and  their  cows,  and  their  dogs — their  necessities  and 
their  superfluities — from  constant  propinquity.  But  he 
had  never  been  anything  to  me,  I  may  say.  Yet  (strange 
power  of  association!),  in  that  great,  populous  city,  isolat 
ed  on  its  wide-flowing  tide  of  humanity,  with  thirst  in  my 
heart,  and,  as  the  mariner  adrift,  with 

"Water,  water  everywhere, 
Nor  any  drop  to  drink," 

• 

he  was  absolutely  dear  to  me!  How  my  heart  warmed  to 
him  they  alone  can  know  who  have  felt  what  it  is,  far  away 
in  a  strange  land,  to  hear  the  accents  of  their  mother 
tongue  and  grasp  the  hand  of  a  friend.  He  brought  with 
him  "airs  from  heaven"  !  Upon  his  garments  was  the  scent 
of  the  sweetbrier  on  my  porch  at  home.  I  would  not  have 
given  him  for  a  street  full  of  millionaires.  I  could  not  part 
with  him.  I  took  him  to  dine  with  me  to  my  tavern,  the 
Astor  House,  and  there  in  the  course  of  the  day  we  talked 
each  other  into  such  a  fever  of  homesickness  that  I  gave 


The  B.  E.  R.  B.  585 

up  my  schemes  with  the  millionaires,  and  next  day  we  set 
out  together  for  Kentucky ! 

On  the  way,  young  Vulcan  proved  very  entertaining ;  re 
lieving  the  tedium  of  the  journey  by  narratives  of  his  ex 
perience  in  Colorado  and  California,  and  his  voyage  by 
way  of  the  Isthmus  to  New  York.  At  last  he  said,  "Colo 
nel"  (this  chronicler  is  a  conventional  military  man),  "do 
you  remember  Will  Reece  at  home — the  tailor?" 

"To  be  sure  I  do,"  I  replied;  "he  mended  all  my  old 
clothes  just  before  he  went  away." 

"Well,  he's  there  in  New  York,  at  the  Fifth  Avenue,  mar 
ried  to  a  beautiful  young  woman,  and  rich !" 

"Mayn't  you  have  been  mistaken  in  your  man?"  I  said. 
"Did  you  speak  to  him  ?" 

"Yes !  I  saw  him  the  day  I  got  to  New  York.  He  sat 
with  a  beautiful  young  woman  nearly  opposite  me  at  the 
table,  and  while  I  was  studying  his  face  she  noticed  this 
and  called  his  attention  to  me,  and  pretty  soon  he  came 
over  and  spoke  to  me,  and  shook  hands,  and  was  ever  so 
glad  to  see  me,  and  made  me  go  over  and  sit  with  them. 
After  a  while  he  looked  at  his  watch  and  said.  'Wife,  I  am 
going  to  take  Mr.  Blaze  to  the  opera — will  you  go  with  us  ?' 

"  'No/  she  said,  looking  at  her  watch  ;*  'it  is  too  late.  I 
should  not  have  time  to  get  ready.  But  you  and  Mr. 
Blaze  go/ 

*To  the  back-countrymen  no  habit  of  the  people  of  cities  is 
more  noticeable  than  that  of  often  looking  at  their  watches. 
Even  before  accepting  an  invitation  to  drink  they  consult 
their  watches.  "What  for  you  look  at  your  watch?"  said  a 
Louisiana  Creole  to  one  of  them.  "You  nevvare  reffuse."  The 
average  man  of  the  back-country  will  approximate  the  time  of 
day  by  a  reckoning  unconsciously  kept  in  his  mind,  and  will 
ascertain  it  with  reasonable  accuracy  by  a  glance  at  the  sun; 
and  at  night  the  touch  of  the  moss  on  the  trees  will  show  the 
north,  and  he  has  a  store  of  astronomical  signs  that  serve  his 
purpose.  That  is  a  characteristic  touch  of  Shakespeare  where 
the  carrier  at  Gadshill  observes  that  "Charles's  wain  is  over 
the  new  chimney."  What  did  Falstaff,  or  Prince  Hal,  or  Poins, 
though  "minions  of  the  moon,"  know  of  these  things?  They 
knew  only  such  signs  as  the  taverns  gave  out,  or  the  chimes 
at  midnight,  or  the  burning  out  of  candles  other  than  "night's 
candles." 


586  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

"Eeece  wrote  a  note  on  a  card,  and  sent  it  by  a  waiter  to 
the  office,  and  when  we  went  out  on  the  street  we  found  a 
carriage  waiting  for  us.  'To  the  Opera  House/  said  Eeece 
to  the  driver. 

"  'All  right,  Mr.  Eeece/  answered  the  driver,  looking  at 
his  watch;  'we  are  a  little  late,  but  if  you  will  jump  right 
in  I'll  make  it/  We  jumped  right  in,  Reece  calling  out 
of  the  window,  'Tarbox,  drive  like  the  devil !'  And  he  did 
drive,  slowly  until  we  had  turned  out  of  Broadway — and 
then  like  the  devil  indeed !  Away  we  went,  tearing  along 
the  street,  and  whirling  around  corners,  in  a  way  that  I  had 
never  known  before.  I  think  Eeece  saw  that  I  was  a  little 
uneasy,  for  he  said,  'There's  no  danger  in  New  York  horses ; 
they  know  just  what  they  are  about — they  know  every  stone 
in  the  pavements.' 

"When  we  got  out  at  the  ticket-office,  Eeece  handed  in  a 
five-dollar  gold  piece,  saying,  'Two  tickets.'  But  the  ticket- 
man  looked  at  him,  and  smiled,  and  pushed  back  the  money, 
and  said,  'No,  no,  Mr.  Eeece/  and  handed  him  two  slips 
of  paper,  and  Eeece  took  back  the  money,  and  with  these 
slips  we  went  into  the  Opera  House.  You  may  be  sure  I 
was  wondering  at  all  this!" 

"Didn't  you  ask  him  what  business  he  was  engaged  in  ?" 
said  I  (thinking  that  he  must  have  organized  something, 
perhaps  the  clam  trade,  about  which  I  had  been  thinking 
seriously). 

"No,  not  then ;  but  afterward,  when  we  were  having  some 
raw  oysters  and  a  bottle  of  white  wine  at  the  hotel,  and 
after  I  had  told  him  all  about  my  own  affairs,  even  to  the 
exact  sum  I  had  brought  home,  I  did  ask  him,  right  square 
ont,  'Will,  how  in  the  world  did  you  get  into  such  high 
clover  ?'  and  he  answered  me,  lowering  his  voice,  and  speak 
ing  in  a  confidential  way,  'I  am  on  this  big  railroad  busi 
ness.'  And  then  he  talked  .of  other  things,  leaving  me  about 
as  wise  as  I  was  before." 

And,  reader,  though  I  have  felt  the  greatest  interest  in 
this  case  and  still  feel  it  for  my  reader's  sake,  a  case  so 
phenomenal,  in  which  a  young  tailor  from  a  Kentucky  vil 
lage  rose  in  so  short  a  time  from  abject  poverty  to  affluence, 
and  though  I  have  made  diligent  inquiries,  I  know  no  more 


The  B.  R.  R.  B.  587 

of  this  matter  than  is  conveyed  in  those  words,  "I  am  on 
this  big  railroad  business !" 

Verily,  this  B.  B,  E.  B., — to  express  it  in  the  cabalistic 
form  so  much  affected  by  these  institutions, — this  B.K.R.B., 
I  say,  is  evidently  the  greatest  business  mystery  of  the  age ! 

It  may  be  well  to  state  that  they,  too,  have  their  words 
of  power,  "water,"  "float,"  "scoop" — words  manifestly  used 
in  a  peculiar  cabalistic  sense ;  for  what  such  aqueous  terms 
can  mean,  applied  in  their  ordinary  sense  to  a  business  con 
fined  exclusively  to  land,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive.  For 
my  own  part,  not  caring  at  my  advanced  age  to  incur  the 
responsibility  of  great  riches,  I  decline  to  give  the  problem 
any  further  study,  but  commend  it,  along  with  the  general 
principle  enunciated  in  the  last  chapter,  to  such  of  my 
readers  as  are  intending  millionaires.  Let  them  get  on 
to  the  B.  R.  R.  B.  at  once. 


CHAPTER  LXVI 

CONCLUSION 
"I  passed  by  the  walls  of  Balchutha,  and  they  were  desolate." 

THE  little  town,  The  Falls,  exists  no  longer. — Etiam 
ruince  periere. — Even  its  ruins  have  perished,  and  a  huge, 
smoky  city  now  usurps  its  place.  The  very  face  of  nature 
there  has  been  altered.  Beargrass  Creek  no  longer  pours 
out  from  the  shade  of  primeval  forests  its  clear  waters  in 
front  of  the  town.  By  a  new  channel  they  have  been  divert 
ed  into  the  river  at  a  point  far  away  from  its  ancient 
mouth,  its  old  course  has  been  filled  up,  and  the  dreary  per 
spective  of  a  railway  lies  above  its  bed.  All  the  primitive 
woods  about  its  banks  have  been  hewn  down,  their  leaves 
withered  into  dust,  and  their  trunks  and  limbs  consumed 
in  the  fiery  breath  of  brick  kilns  and  distilleries;  and  the 
same  fate  has  befallen  all  the  beautiful  grove  that  once 
environed  the  town. 

Corn  Island,  with  its  wilderness  of  trees  and  vines  and 
flowers — all  save  its  stone  base — has  vanished,  as  the  Gar 
den  of  Eden,  washed  away  by  the  flood,  leaving  no  trace  be 
hind.  The  fishhawks  and  the  countless  waterfowl  that 
came  to  the  falls  visit  there  no  more.  The  screaming 
eagles  have  given  place  to  shrieking  locomotives,  which, 
gliding  on  threads  of  steel,  in  mid-air  above  the  falls,  draw 
in  their  train  the  endless  burdens  of  commerce.  Even  the 
roar  of  the  waters  has  been  silenced,  drowned  in  the  louder 
roar  of  traffic  through  a  hundred  avenues. 

Yet,  at  times,  when  this  chronicler,  drawn  thither  as  a 
pilgrim  to  a  shrine,  visits  the  new  city,  and  is  lodged  in  the 
great  tavern  there,  whose  windows  look  out  on  the  wide 
expanse  of  the  river  and  the  falls,  if  the  wind  chances  to 
sit  in  the  northwest,  and  he  lies  awake,  as  an  old  man  is 

588 


Conclusion  589 

apt  to  do,  in  the  dead  waste  and  middle  of  the  night — when 
"traffic  has  lain  down  to  rest,"  and  silence  broods  over  the 
wide  streets — then  once  more  he  hears  the  old  song  of  the 
river.  But  it  bears  no  longer  its  ancient  burden,  a  lullaby 
bringing  solace  and  slumber,  but  strikes  upon  the  ear  with 
the  rude  dissonance  of  a  bell 

"Sounding 

Over  the  wide-watered  shore, 
Swinging  slow,  with  solemn  roar," 

filling  his  mind  with  only  sorrowful  remembrances  of  "days 
that  are  no  more,"  and  visions  of  manly  forms  and  sweet, 
loved  faces — vanished  long  ago. 

All  the  fine  plantations  about  The  Falls  have  changed 
owners  and  have  been  subdivided  and  put  to  new  uses. 
Berry  Hill  is  now  a  breeding  place  for  trotting  horses; 
Oxmore,  Moghera  Gloss,  Wood  Lawn,  Spring  Station,  Hay- 
field,  Locust  Grove,  Farmington,  are  in  a  like  condition. 

Lastiands,  too,  has  suffered  a  disastrous  change.  Going 
out  there  lately,  the  chronicler  found  everywhere  along  the 
way  the  same  destruction  of  the  primitive  woods,  and  in 
the  multitude  of  new  lanes  and  avenues  was  often  bewil 
dered  or  lost.  The  road,  so  often  thronged  of  old  with 
planters'  carriages  and  horsemen,  is  now  crowded  only  with 
the  carts  and  wagons  of  butchers  and  market  gardeners, 
blinding  the  eyes  with  dust.  The  stately  plantation  of  the 
Thorntons  is  hardly  recognizable.  All  the  woods  along  the 
Anser  have  been  hewn  away,  and  the  wide  pastures  cut  up 
by  unsightly  fences  into  rectangular  fields.  The  great  wood 
on  the  north  from  which  not  a  "switch  should  be  cut"  has 
long  been  felled,  and  its  whole  area  turned  into  cabbage 
gardens,  and  dotted  over  with  commonplace  cottages. 

Only  thirty  acres  now  belong  to  the  "great-house,"  and 
the  place  has  been  converted  into  a  beer  garden,  where  the 
Teutons  now  come  together  on  holidays,  and  drink  beer  and 
light  wine,  and  sing  the  songs  of  "Fatherland";  peaceful 
assemblies  into  which  the  natives  sometimes  inject  whisky 
and  a  "free  fight." 

The  garden  and  the  graveyard  alone  are  there  unchanged. 
The  first  owes  its  preservation  to  the  love  of  the  Teuton  for 


590  A  Kentucky  Chronicle 

flowers,  and  the  last  to  its  strong  stone  wall  and  iron  gate 
way.  Ivy  from  the  old  burying-ground  in  Virginia  covers 
and  hides  the  wall  and  stone  coping.  From  the  graves  have 
sprouted  trees,  in  which  a  colony  of  green  herons  have  their 
roosting  place.  One  recent  monument,  a  broken  shaft  of 
white  marble,  is  there  to  mark  the  last  resting-place  of  a 
scion  of  the  house,  brought  home  from  a  distant  battlefield ; 
for  Kentucky  still  "claims  from  war  its  richest  spoil — the 
ashes  of  her  dead/' 

The  mansion  is  still  beautiful  with  the  mellow  hue  of 
age,  but  its  fine  colonnades  have  mouldered  away,  and  their 
place  is  disfigured  by  modern  carpentry.  The  floor  of  the 
great  drawing-room  is  now  a  ballroom  with  its  narrow 
ashen  strips  still  sound,  but  the  wainscoting  has  been  paint 
ed  a  dull  white,  hiding  the  grain  of  the  natural  wood,  and  a 
portion  of  the  room  has  been  set  off  by  a  partition  for  a 
kitchen,  and  has  a  stove  in  it. 

From  the  door  of  the  hall  a  painted  sign  projects  hori 
zontally,  bearing  the  legend,  "Wien  und  Bier."  Entering 
there  the  chronicler  found  the  barroom  with  the  usual  ap 
purtenances,  and  a  flaxen-haired  young  woman  in  attend 
ance. 

In  the  library  were  numerous  tables  and  chairs,  and  two 
men  drinking  beer  and  smoking  pipes,  and  speaking  in  un 
mistakable  gutturals.  On  a  table  lay  two  beer-stained  news 
papers,  of  which  he  deciphered  the  titles,  Anzeiger  and 
VolWatt. 

The  wild  roses  brought  by  John  D.  from  the  ancestral 
home  in  Virginia  still  flourish  on  the  walls  and  flaunt  their 
flowers  and  foliage  across  the  small  diamond  window-panes. 
On  one  of  these  were  found  scratched  in  a  delicate  hand, 
doubtless  by  some  female  scion  of  the  house,  these  musical 
lines  of  Mr.  Halleck : 

"Wild  roses  on  the  Abbey  towers 

Are  gay  in  their  young  bud  and  bloom; 
They  were  born  of  a  race  of  funeral  flowers 
That  garlanded  in  long  gone  hours 
A  Templar's  knightly  tomb." 


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